Die A Hero: The 151st Hunger Games
by Professor R.J Lupin1
Summary: You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. Which one will it be? Closed.
1. Prologue 1 - Let's Forget Tonight

**A/N: So I'm going to assume people either clicked on this because they saw an open SYOT or they come from the Youngest Among Us. People who come from the Youngest Among Us, hi! You already know about To All the Hands I've Stained Red, and it's on my profile too, and I doubt that anyone who just clicked on this even knows what I'm talking about, so… I hope people will consider submitting. I pound out chapters very fast (you can ask readers from the Youngest Among Us, and they will confirm this). When I do Reapings, I get both my tributes and usually have a reaping out within two days. I'm not doing actual reapings this time, I'm planning to do flashbacks, but… well, you know how it is. **

**Anyway, thanks to the people who actually read all of that; enjoy!**

**Chapter 1 – Let's Forget Tonight**

**Celinda Oxford, 25, Victor of the 139****th**** Hunger Games, District 10**

We came so close last year. The last victory we had was the 143rd, which was Rhett's Games. Until last year, we hadn't had a tribute from our district come to the final eight since the Games that Rhett won. Lammy came so close to victory. I know her father—he's a very nice man, but he's broken by his daughter's death. He'd already lost his wife a couple of years ago. I can only hope that this year we do get a Victor. I suppose I'll have to wait and see. The reapings are in two days. I can't help but wonder what two poor children will be reaped this year. At least it's not like last year.

I get to my feet, wishing I could spend the whole day in my comfy, plush armchair by the fireplace, even though it's not even remotely cold. After all, summer is in full swing, and 10 is always hot this time of year.

I pad into the kitchen, taking a bottle of alcohol from the fridge. Neglecting to get a glass since I haven't done my dishes in days, I take a swig as the doorbell rings. That'll be Rhett.

Before I answer the door, I take another drink, feeling the fiery liquid burn down my throat as I set the bottle down on the counter. The doorbell rings again, and I yell, "I'm coming!"

Sliding across the wooden floor on my socks, I come to a stop in front of door and yank it open. "Hey, Rhett," I say, turning around and walking away without bothering to invite him in. He shuts the door, following me back into the kitchen. I grab my bottle, hopping up and sitting on the countertop. "What's up?"

His eyes sidle down and land on the alcohol in my hand. "I thought you were trying to stay sober until the Games are over."

I shrug. "Eh, I forgot."

Rhett sighs exasperatedly. "Giving up already?"

"No," I snap. "I don't give up. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Of course I've figured that out," Rhett says, sitting on a stool at the counter. "I don't want you to check out again and leave your girl high and dry."

"It only happened one time," I say, taking another drink. "And that girl didn't have a chance, anyway. She was only twelve, and she died in the Bloodbath."

"Need I remind you that you were only thirteen when you won?" Rhett says with his eyebrows raised. "You should have given that girl a chance."

"And I did," I say with a shrug. "but she didn't deserve a chance."

"Everyone deserves a chance," Rhett counters. I go to take another drink, but he snatches the bottle out of my hands and sets it up high on a shelf, too high for me to reach. I glare at him. "That girl was the only one keeping income to her family. Her little sisters starved to death after she died."

"What did you want me to do?" I ask incredulously. "She was twelve, tiny, hardly any muscle. Her predicted placement was twenty-second. Not a single person placed a bet on her. She was just another face in the sky."

"She was a child," Rhett replies stiffly. "who wanted to have a life. Who had a family to take care of. Who probably wanted to get married, to have children. But now, she's dead, just like so many before her."

"You have a one in twenty-four chance of coming home," I say. "Even if you're in an arena with twenty-four clones of the same person, there's no guarantee that you'll win. And the Games are never like that. There's always strong and weak tributes. That girl was a weak one."

"That doesn't give you the right to ignore her and do nothing," Rhett says, crossing his arms.

I slide off the counter and go to the fridge. Just as I am about to open the door, Rhett grabs my arm and pulls me away. "Why do you care so much?" I exclaim, shaking out of his grip. "We've never brought a tribute home. Why do you keep trying?"

"Because everyone deserves a chance," Rhett says. "There's potential in every tribute. I think, that with the right combination of tributes, every child we've ever mentored could've won. Like remember that strong eighteen-year-old boy we got the year after I won? Calhoun? He could've won if a different girl from 1 had volunteered that year."

"Yeah, but that girl did volunteer," I reply, opening the fridge door again.

"And the next year, with that tall girl, what was her name? Something that started with an _A_?" Rhett furrows his brow, his mouth forming silent words as he searches for that girl's name.

"Ainsley," I say offhandedly.

"Yes, that girl. She could've won if it wasn't for that boy from District 5." He sighs. "All of them could've won if there was a different combination of tributes."

"But they didn't," I respond, uncorking a bottle of wine. "Want some?"

"No." Rhett scowls as I hunt for a clean glass. I locate one on top of the fridge, just gathering dust, and try to hop up to grab him. I glance at Rhett imploringly. "Ugh, fine." He walks over, reaching up and taking the glass down. He hands it to me and I pour the wine in, knocking it back in one full swoop.

With my head spinning, I take my glass and my bottle and sit down at the table, refilling the glass. Rhett appears with a glass in his hand too, flopping down in the chair across from me and holding out the cup. "Just… give me some."

I smile lopsidedly, filling his cup. He takes a sip, looking at me with concern in his eyes. "Doesn't it feel good to forget?" I ask, my voice slightly slurred. I lean back against my chair, throwing my arm over the back. "Just… drift away. Not have to think?"

Rhett nods slowly, taking another drink. "I guess it does."

"You sure have a lot of mood swings," I say, taking a long drink of wine. "Two minutes ago, you were tellin' me off for drinkin' and now… here you are."

He shuts his eyes and holds out his glass for a refill.

**What do you guys think of Celinda? Of Rhett? They both mentored in the Youngest Among Us, and are determined to bring another tribute home, as they came so close with Lammy last year. **

**The next two chapters will introduce the other two mentors. I'm not sure who the next one will be right now, but the second will definitely be the Victor from the Youngest Among Us, Macy, and hopefully by then I will have both of the tributes from District 1 and can get started the Reapings!**

**Anyway, here are the rules. They'll also be posted on my profile with the tribute list and form. **

**1\. The tribute limit is five. If you do make five, at least one has to be a bloodbath. Not having enough to kill in the bloodbath is difficult, because you have to kill off tributes that should have made it further so it seems larger. **

**2\. Reservations are allowed, and last for seven days. If you don't think you can make this, you can let me know and we'll extend your time limit. **

**3\. Please, please, be detailed. Don't just give me adjectives for personality. Give me sentences. I reserve the right to refuse any tribute that isn't detailed enough for me to work with. I'm not creating characters, I'm writing them, giving them arcs. That's the whole point of a SYOT.**

**4\. I also reserve the right to change anything I need to about your character. But if I have to change something, it's likely because you didn't fill it in, and you can bet I won't make them into a Victor or a wonderful character. I will make them a bloodbath. **

**5\. Reviewed tributes are accepted, but PM is preferred. It keeps the tributes secret, and it's easier for me to find when I need to look at them. **

**6\. This isn't exactly a rule, but please review. I know life can get hectic, and you don't need to review every chapter, but just check in once in a while. Let me know you're still reading. I'm not going to kill off a tribute just because their submitter isn't reviewing, but they likely won't win because of it. I don't need long, well thought out reviews (although those are always appreciated). You can simply say 'Great chapter!'. It lets me know that you're still reading. **

**Notes: Before you submit, please consult the info on the districts I have on my profile. It's fairly inconsequential, but there are a few things that you might want to know. Don't be discouraged from submitting to District 7. I allow twelve year olds to win and for districts to win back to back. It all rides on the tribute. **

**Anyway, here's form:**

**Name:**

**Age:**

**Gender:**

**District:**

**Backup District: (just in case the spot you submit to is taken or reserved)**

**Appearance: (faceclaims are fine)**

**Personality: (this should be a paragraph **_**at least**_**. Don't just give me adjectives. I either won't accept them, or if I'm really desperate, I'll take them and make them a bloodbath.)**

**Backstory: (same as above)**

**Family: (name, age, and a bit of personality. I don't need their appearances)**

**Friends: (same as above)**

**Quote: **

**Strengths: (3-6)**

**Weaknesses: (4-8)**

**Weapon of choice: (it's okay if they don't have one)**

**Reaped/Volunteers: **

**Reaction/Reason: (outlying volunteers need to have a good reason. I don't want it to be 'volunteered because they're trained and they will win', unless it really fits with their backstory/personality)**

**Token:**

**Preferred Placement:**

**Predicted Placement:**

**Preferred Death: (not making any promises, but ideas are always appreciated)**

**Flashback: (Instead of doing Reapings, this will be how I introduce the characters. It doesn't have to be something wild, it could be just a normal, everyday scene. It can't be on Reaping day, however. You HAVE to put something here.)**

**Optional, but Appreciated:**

**Chariot Outfit: (I'll choose either this one or your district partner's)**

**Interview Outfit:**

**Interview Angle:**

**Theme Song:**

**Allies?:**

**Suggest Training Score: (please be realistic. A scrawny twelve-year-old is not going to get an eleven)**

**What do they show the Gamemakers?:**

**Why Should They Win?:**

**Anything else?:**


	2. Prologue 2 - The Factions

**A/N: Here is the second mentor. Keep submitting! I can't wait for this story to really get going. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2 – The Factions**

**Peridot Nero, 45, District 1, Victor of 127****th**** Hunger Games**

It's been too long. Too long since we had a Victor. And I know that everyone knows who Money Quinneton is—but I don't consider him an actual Victor. He's a terrible mentor, terrible fighter, terrible person. He practically ruined the Hunger Games for me—I'd been mentoring with Amethyst until he came along, demanding to mentor every year for basically the rest of his existence. And ever since the 145th, that's exactly what he's been doing. Neapolitan, Pyrite and Topaz are probably at his place right now, trying to convince him to let someone else mentor this year.

I'll never forget what he did. Those were his siblings last year—and all he did was put them down. I knew those twins, ever since they seven, when Money won. A lot of the Victors here have kids, but not many have (or had) siblings that young. Both of them would have been better Victors than Money ever has been.

Even I think it's cruel to send a pair of twin voluntarily into the Games. It's just going to end in tears, and almost every Victor we've got agrees with me. Of course, the real Hunger Games fanatics, like Jacinth and Brilliant, don't. Siblings make the Games more interesting, don't they? At least, according to them.

Unfortunately, Jacinth lives immediately to my right and Brilliant to my left, trapping me in between two fanatics who regularly come by my house to watch some random Hunger Games. There are a few they refuse to watch—such as the 36th, the 71st and the 99th—but they are obsessed.

Even as I internally monologue, I sit on a couch in Jacinth's house, watching the 123rd Games, which was won by Cobalt Lyte from District 3. Brilliant makes some comment about how Cobalt shouldn't even be considered a real Victor, since he was part of the Career alliance and killed all of them in their sleep. She remarks that that's the most dishonorable way to win. I suppose after you've killed seven people, you start wanting other people to do the same. People are dumb, thinking their opinions are the best and should be the only one. Jacinth and Brilliant are perfect examples of this.

I shift on the couch, trying to discreetly sidle away from Brilliant as Jacinth yells something when the girl from 1 gets gutted by the boy from 5.

There's a knock at the door, and I nearly sigh in relief. Freedom. I get to my feet, telling Jacinth and Brilliant that I'll get it, and go to open the door. On the doorstep is the second most recent Victor from 1—she won the 138th Games, mentoring for less two years before she gave up and handed the reins back to me. It's always me who has to mentor the girl. Brilliant would probably love to, but we all found out that she is terrible at it, Valencia is a recluse, and Satin is old and has dementia.

"Oh, hi, Peri," Alexandrite says. "What are you doing here?"

"Save me," I whisper, pointing over my shoulder to Jacinth and Brilliant on the couch, yelling at Cobalt as he fights the boy from 2 in the finale.

Alex laughs softly. "Okay." She cups a hand around her mouth and yells, "Hey, Jacinth! I'm stealing Peridot!"

Jacinth grumbles something in reply, and I take this as a good time to disappear. Pounding down the steps as Alexandrite follows me toward my house, I breathe a sigh of relief. Jacinth and Brilliant would love to force other Victors to watch the Games with them too, but they've learned pretty quickly that blood gets to spilt if they ever try to drag Valencia out of her bedroom, Pyrite will punch someone (usually Jacinth), Topaz throws things, and even Money won't do it. I simply go along with it because I don't want to be on Brilliant's hit list. I swear she must have one.

See, there are factions between the Victors of 1. There's the one I'm a part of, the only ones who ever mentor. There's the alcoholic, Valencia, and the fanatics, which Jacinth and Brilliant created, and of course, the one we tend to ignore. Sunstone… she lives way down at the end of the Village, in the houses that have had to be added on.

The fanatics have two members: Jacinth and Brilliant. Every Friday, they get together and watch a random Hunger Games, usually a Quarter Quell. I think Jacinth keeps trying to get me to join their ranks—I don't hate myself enough to do that. If someone invites me, I go. I suffer through it for the hope that one day the factions will go away.

The one we ignore, considered 'Untouchable' has one member. Sunstone. She's a recluse. We never see her, she never sees us, it's better off this way.

My second least favorite faction is the Alcoholic. Valencia. She gets hammered, then stumbles around the Village for a few hours until someone goes outside, shoves her into her houses and locks the door. We don't know what she gets up to after we lock her in, and no one wants to find out.

And then there's my faction. The Mentors. Alexandrite, Pyrite, Topaz, Neapolitan and Money. Of course, Pyrite, Topaz and Neapolitan want to oust Money so they can mentor, but I think we all know that that will never happen. Money has his seat in the Mentoring Room, and you will have to rip it from his cold, dead hands.

I open my front door, Alex following me inside. "Why were you at Jacinth's, anyway?" I ask as I head into the kitchen.

"Came looking for you," she replies with a shrug. "When you weren't here, I figured Jacinth and Brilliant had kidnapped you and dragged you into the cellar to watch the Hunger Games."

"It's called a living room, but yes," I say as I take a jug of orange juice out of the fridge. "Want some?"

She shakes her head. "You looking forward to the Reaping tomorrow?"

"Sure, I guess," I say. "We've got a new escort this year; she comes from District 7. She was promoted after Macy Barker's victory."

"Oh, that'll be fun."

"Won't it?" I say as I pour myself a glass of orange juice. I glance up at the clock. "Hey, want some lunch?"

"Nah," Alex replies lazily. "I gotta go drag Valencia into the shower. Lost a bet with Pyrite."

I shake my head, resolving not to ask.

**A/N: And here is the second prologue. What do you think of Peridot? Of any of the District 1 Victors? Jacinth and Brilliant are certainly… weird. **

**Also, would anyone be interested in reading my Victors' canon? I know it's something that's done a lot, but I've actually written some, and know some of the important events. Like the District 2 win streak between the twenty-eighth and thirty-fifth Games, only broken by the first Victor from District 6. Would anyone be interested? **

**-Amanda**


	3. Prologue 3 - People Can Forget

**A/N: And here is the final prologue. I'm not sure when the first reaping will be out, it depends on when I get my girl for 1. **

**Anyway, let's check in on the Victor from the last SYOT I did, Macy Barker!**

**Chapter 3 – People Can Forget**

**Macy Barker, 13, District 7, Victor of the 150****th**** Annual Hunger Games**

I'm going to have to face him soon. He'll be on the train, in the Capitol, and I'll have to face him every single day I'm there. I don't know if I can do it. He was there, during the Victory Tour, on the train every day, right where I could see him. President Snow loves to torment the Victors—well, that's what Cypress tells me.

But at least there's nothing left she can take from me.

After all, she's done everything she can to ruin my life. Avoxed Shallow, killed my family… even Echo's friend Jasbelle disappeared a couple of months back. I'm afraid I'll see her as well when I get to the Capitol in two days. She might even be on the train, like Shallow during the Victory Tour. At least when we made eye contact, which we inevitably did, he didn't seem accusing or unhappy. He just seemed… blank. Hollow. I've heard most Avoxes eventually end up like that. No one knows their name anymore, no one will ever know what they have to say, they just waste their lives serving people they hate. After all, all Avoxes did something to illegal to get to where they are.

For the past couple of months, I've been preparing my candles. I've painted each one specially for the tributes in my Games. Coin's is golden, Cash's is silver, Wake's is red… the list goes on. A few are noticeably bare, like Myrian's and Alby's and Joba's, since I don't know anything about them. I think Myrian was an artist, and Alby may have liked to sing? Joba is just a whole other case entirely—some people wouldn't give people like him and Avia candles at all, but I feel that no matter what you did, you should be honored. And I doubt there are too many people out there mourning the loss of Joba Hatch. It's up to me to remember him, and all those who were forgotten, lost in the fray.

In the late evening light, I go out onto the porch. All my candles, which I have painstakingly customized in the past couple of months, sit on the railings of the porch, just waiting to be lit. I go to the first candle, which happens to be Wake's, and I light it, thinking of her brother. I never found out exactly what Coin was talking about. All I know is that her brother committed suicide. I suspected abuse of some kind, but with no evidence… there's nothing I could do.

These candles started out as something to do with my hands. I can't sit still for very long, without anything to occupy my thoughts, so I went into town and bought twenty-three candles. Each one is like the spirit of the tribute it represents, each one reminds of another useless death. But I don't care. After all, if I don't remember these tributes, who will?

They have families. At least, some of them do. But families can forget. They can die out, especially if one of these tributes gave them their income. I know what loss does to people. It changes you. Sometimes it even makes you want to give up. And some people do. Some people lay down on the ground and wait for death to claim them, wait to join their loved one who died. They forget. When they die, who remembers the person they died because of?

I sigh, sitting down in a cushioned rocking chair as the candle flames dance around me. I've only lit half of them so far, but the lighter is starting to sputter and I don't want it to explode and burn the house down. That's not going to go over very well with the Capitol. At least, not with President Snow. I'm sure all the Capitolites will think it's utterly hilarious. _Oh, look, Macy Barker tried to do something nice for the tributes in her Games, but all she did was burn her house down! Pathetic._

A shiver runs down my spine as I think about it. Really, I couldn't care less about how the Capitol sees me, but I hate being laughed at. Being laughed _with_ is a different case entirely, but I haven't been doing too much laughing recently. Nothing seems funny anymore. Sometimes I just wonder if it will it ever get better. Will I spend the rest of my life haunting my house like a ghost, only going outside when Cypress drags me by the ear? I just drift through my house, doing nothing, with the T.V. always at full volume because I can't take the silence. Silence is deafening. The horrors of the arena creep into my mind when it's quiet, when it's dark.

See, that's the reason I have so many lamps.

Cypress, Larken, all the Victors from 7 have lived like this. I just don't get how they survive. It's been a whole year since I came out of the arena, and I'm no closer to being better. I know that I will never be back to normal. No one, not even Career Victors, are ever truly the same when they come out. We never can forget the Hunger Games. But we all know that we're not supposed to be. We are living reminders that even those who win still lose to the Capitol, to the blood shed of the arena. And that… that can never be forgotten.

**A/N: I'm very unhappy with this chapter. I feel like it was all over the place, and Macy did literally nothing except almost burn her house down, and this chapter isn't important when you've read the epilogues from the Youngest Among us. Anyway, I'll be back when I get my girl from 1. **

**-Amanda**


	4. District 1 - Dreaming With Open Eyes

**A/N: I'm back! Here's to the start of the arguably worst (is anyone going to argue about this, though?) part of an SYOT! Unfortunately, it's also the longest. Yippee. **

**Thanks to Guesttwelve for Clash and AnnaBanana for Fragrance!**

**Anywho, enjoy. **

**Chapter 3 – Dreaming With Open Eyes**

_Clash Winston, 18, District 1_

"_Your mind is your greatest weapon, but it doesn't hurt to be able to swing a sword."_

**Three Months Before The Reapings**

Valor thrusts the spear forward, narrowly missing my torso, but even if it had hit, it's not like it would have hurt. It's a fake spear, made for sparring, meaning it's obviously not going to actually stab me or draw blood. It might bruise a little, but it won't leave any lasting impression.

My spear meets his, clanging together as if we are sword fighting, and I pull mine back first. I swing it out, purposefully missing Valor by a mile, leaving it stuck into the sparring mat. I give it a tug, trying to pull it out as Valor counter-attacks, throwing his spear right into my shoulder. I release my hands, easily dodging Valor's weapon, pivoting on my feet and yanking the spear out of the mat.

I shove my shoulder into Valor's back, sending him toppling toward the ground, and I place my foot lightly on his chest, putting the tip of my spear against his forehead.

The trainer on the other side of the mat counts to five, blowing his whistle as I let Valor up.

"Hey, good job," Valor says, but I can't help but notice the slight bitter edge in his voice. Everything we do for the next few months, up until the Reaping, could change the course of our lives. Losing a sparring match, even as little as this one, could change the minds of the Volunteering Committee. It almost makes me feel bad—but Valor is hard to beat. It's rare that someone does. And that makes me proud.

Could this mean that _I_ will be chosen as the volunteer? I mean, the trainers _do_ look pretty impressed. Could I get the chance to go into the Games?

I sigh as I put my spear back on the rack. No, I don't think I will. It's so unlikely that there's not even a point to hoping, is there? It will probably be someone like Valor. He worlds better than I could ever be, right?

As an idea comes to my head, my Victory swirling through my head, I duck into the main office. I spot the secretary, who's name is something like Violetta, I think—I would think I would remember names better, since I like to use them so much when I write, but names always evade me—sitting at the front desk, writing something down.

The light _scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch_ of her pen against the paper is the only sound in the office as I slink through the rows of filing cabinets behind her. I walk lightly, careful to keep my footsteps silent, finally spotting what I'm looking for: a large stack of lined paper, sitting dormant on a table behind Violetta.

I crouch behind one of the filing cabinets as Violetta looks at her watch and swears. "Damnit, I'm late for that meeting…" She trails off, gathering up her papers and hurrying out of the office.

Yes! I run out from behind the cabinets, trying to stay low so I'm not visible through the windows, and I grab a few papers off the stack. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough that I can get my thoughts down without running out of room to write.

I tuck them into my jacket, trying to hide them from view. I pass a couple of other trainees in the hallway, waving and exchanging pleasantries with them as we walk by each other. As soon as I make it out the front doors, I breathe a sigh of relief, my tense muscles relaxing.

As I pass through the glittering streets of 1, I run into my older brother, Cattler. He won the Hunger Games a while back, but is estranged from our family. He took his pregnant wife to the Victors' Village with him instead of us, opening a rift between us.

"Hello, Clash," he says cordially.

I nod to him. "Hi, Cattler. How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm alright," Cattler says tiredly. "Cyndalia is supposed to go into labor any day now, and I've got to be home when she does so I can get her to the hospital."

"Why are you out now, then?" I ask. I cross my arms across my chest, silently making sure I haven't lost my papers. They're still there.

He lifts the plastic bag in his hand. "Cravings," he says as an explanation.

"Ah," I say.

He checks his watch. "Well, I best be going. It was nice to see you, Clash."

"I'll see you later, Cattler," I reply as we walk past each other. It's weird to me, our relationship. Ever since he won the Games, we haven't been like siblings at all. I have a better relationship with the trainees as the academy. Hell, I have a better relationship with my cat!

When I reach my house, I pull out my key and unlock the door. I enter the foyer, hoping to duck upstairs before Tella, my younger sister, or Jake, my younger brother, can start attacking me and prohibiting me from writing.

Of course, I am not so lucky.

"Claaaaash!" Tella cries excitedly, running full force through the kitchen and jumping toward me. She wraps her arms around my neck, babbling excitedly about her day. "You've been gone for too long! I missed you!" She continues telling me about her day, how she played with her friends and did makeovers with Mom, how she took a nap with my cat, all sorts of things that nine-year-olds do in District 1.

I hope all this hugging hasn't crumpled by papers. "Hey, Tella!" I laugh as she lets me go, dropping back to the ground as her hair whips around her. "I can tell you've had a busy day."

"I have," Tella agrees. "Have you?"

"I beat Valor Hudson in a sparring match today," I say, trying to peel her off and get her to leave me alone. Don't get me wrong, I love Tella. She's just… clingy, and never stops talking.

"Cool!" she exclaims.

"Clash, is that you?" Mom yells from the kitchen.

"Yeah," I say loudly, trying to talk over Tella's chatter.

"There's a letter for you on the table."

A letter? Letters only carry important things. People never just write letters to friends. After all, what's the point when you can just walk over to them and say it in person? I head into the kitchen, finally losing Tella, and I grab the letter off the table.

_To Clash Winston_

_District 1_

Huh. I head up the stairs, walking into my room once I reach the landing. I throw the letter onto my bed and sit down at my desk to get writing.

Once I fill up my new papers and staple them into the book I've been working on for literal years—it's a work in progress. I can only get paper every once in a while, so new ideas come quick but can't be written down. It's almost two-hundred pages now, and I really can't wait to finish it. I'm not sure if anyone will ever read it. After all, all the papers are stolen from the academy. It's not exactly illegal, but not really legal either—I return to the letter.

I use a pencil to open the envelope, pulling out the letter inside.

_To Clash Winston, _

_Congratulations. You have been chosen as the male volunteer for District 1 in the 151__st__ Annual Hunger Games. We trust you will do everything in your power to be the best of District 1 and strive to become a Victor in these coming Games._

_Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor, _

_Trainers of the Court Academy_

I read the letter two or three more times before it actually starts making sense. I've been chosen to go into the Hunger Games. I'm going into the Hunger Games. I'm going into the Hunger Games! If I win—no, once I win, yes, _once _I win—I can get my book published! And if I have to pay a fine for the paper, who cares? I have enough money to pay it twenty times over!

"Mom! Dad!" I yell, holding onto the letter tightly. I was wrong. It's not Valor Hudson. It's not anyone else. It's me! As I pound down the stairs, one thought goes through my head,

_I have to win. And I will. _

_Fragrance Emst, 16, District 1_

"_I'm not afraid of you. I'm also not afraid to kick your ass."_

**Six Months Before the Reapings**

"_Waina! Slow down!" Coral yells, stumbling over her chubby toddler legs. _

"_Nuh-uh!" I say in reply. "What's the point of playin' tag if I don' run fast?"_

_Her little foot catches on a rock in the grass, sending her flying through the air. "Coral!" I cry, running to catch her. She slams into the grass, sending patches of dirt and green sailing into the air. _

_She immediately starts crying, and I kneel beside her. "What hurts?" I ask worriedly. Her chin looks red—is that… is that blood? It can't be blood! Coral can't bleed! Coral can't be hurt! She has to be okay! "I go get Gwandma," I say hurriedly, jumping to my feet and running as fast I can across the yard. I pound up the steps of the porch, yanking open the backyard and running into the house. _

"_Gwandma!" I yell. "Gwandpa! Coral fell—her face is red!" _

_I approach the stairs, looking up the steps and steeling myself to start up them. "Gwandma!" I shout again, clinging to the stair railing. "Gwandpa! Coral hurt!" _

_Mommy and Daddy are out at a party, I think. Grandma and Grandpa are here to 'babysit' us. I think that's kind of stupid. I'm not a baby! I'm three years old. I don't need a babysitter. At least Grandma and Grandpa are cool. Grandma makes the best lemonade!_

_I reach the top of the stairs, padding across the wooden floor. _

"_No!" _

_I hear the voice echo out from Mommy's bedroom. It sounds like Grandma. Is she okay? Is her face red too?_

"_Gwandma?" I ask uncertainly, gently pushing the door open. _

_Grandpa sits on Mommy's bed, one hand to her mouth as she chokes back a sob, tears running down her old face. She has a phone to her ear, and I can hear the weird, muffled voice coming out from it. "Gwandma?" I say again, coming deeper into the room. _

"_We'll be there—we'll be there right away," Grandma says. She takes the phone away from her ear, looking up at me. "Come here, Raina." _

_I cock my head to the side, walking up to her. She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Honey, will you go get your sister? We need to—we need to go to the hospital." _

"_For Coral?" I ask. Grandma looks at me oddly. "She tripped," I explain. "Her face is all wet and red."_

"…_yes," Grandma says eventually. "that's why we're going. For Coral. Now go get your sister, alright?"_

"_Okay!" I say brightly, skipping out of the room and wondering why Grandma is crying if she didn't even know that Coral was injured. Grandma's just smart like that. She knows things before I even tell her! She's the best. I love her almost as much as I love Mommy and Daddy. _

I wake in a cold sweat. I don't have those sorts of dreams often—and that's all they are. Dreams. My name was never Raina. My only sister is named Beauty. My grandparents have been dead for years.

I rarely ever stay in that dream long enough to actually reach the hospital. Whenever I do, I find my parents—who look nothing like my _actual _parents—laying under sheets in a morgue, completely and totally dead. The grandma-woman tells me that it was a big car crash, that Mommy and Daddy won't be coming home.

I've never figured out where these _dreams_ come from. If I ever ask Mom or Dad about them, they tell me that they're just dreams. My name is Fragrance Emst. My sister is named Beauty, not Coral. My parents most certainly are not dead. Even now, I can hear them talking downstairs.

Only once have I ever wished I could stay in that dream land. It was almost three years ago now—I had stayed in that dream for so long, so long I even began to think it was real. I went home, I met my aunt and uncle—who were eerily similar to my parents—and they were demanding that I come to live with them. I didn't want to go with them, in my dream. But I didn't have a choice.

But sometimes, I wish I could have stayed.

"Fragrance! Are you up yet?" Mother yells from downstairs.

"Yes!" I shout back, swinging my legs out of bed. I should have known not to stay in bed for so long—once my alarm goes off, I'm expected downstairs, perfectly polished and ready for the day in fifteen minutes. It's ridiculous—with how made up my parents expect me to be, they expect me to be done in fifteen minutes! It makes my blood boil.

I throw on some clothes—I don't bother even looking at what they are, they're always gold or pink, it will go—and dive into the bathroom. I hurriedly get ready before throwing myself downstairs in a whirlwind of blonde hair and makeup.

I almost run right into my little sister, Beauty. "Oops," I say, stumbling back and trying to regain my balance. "Hey, Beauty."

"Hi, Fragrance," she says timidly with a small wave. "How are you today?"

I shrug. "I'm fine. I'd be better if I got a bit more time to get ready every morning." I say it in a joking tone, but I mean it, and Beauty knows that. We're united in our hatred for our conceited parents—the very same people who sit in the next room and treat their own daughter like she's their maid.

"You should get going," Beauty says.

I pull her into a quick hug and dash into the next room. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," Beauty replies before we go our separate ways.

Beauty means the world to me. Without her, I wouldn't want to keep living this life beneath my narcissistic parents. But without me, I don't think Beauty would want to live, either.

**A/N: Well, I did it. The first Reaping is over. What do you think of Clash? Of Fragrance? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will make it further? **

**I'm not sure when District 2 will be out. Sometime soon, hopefully. **

**-Amanda**


	5. District 2 - You Will Never Win

**A/N: Heyo, I've returned. It really hasn't been all that long but I like saying that anyway. **

**Is it weird that someday I want to receive a tribute who lives in an empty house in the Victors' Village solely so I can call their Reaping chapter 'It's Free Real Estate'? Yeah, it's weird. **

**Thanks to LordShiro for Guadalupe and Sparky She-Demon for Adrian!**

**Why do I always put 'enjoy' here? **

**Chapter 4 – You Will Never Win**

_Guadalupe Alessandra Dominguez, 18_

"_Sometimes the worst place you can be is your own head…"_

**One Month Before the Reapings**

The low buzzing of the academy, the murmur of voices, the clink of glasses and plates and utensils, the scrape of chairs across the floor, the general noise of the other trainees around me makes me uncomfortable. The looks, the furtive glances, the whispers when they think I can't hear… it's deafening. Sometimes it makes me want to rip my own hair out and scream. But over the years, I've learned to ignore it. And I almost do. Of course, sometimes, I can't. It's too _loud_.

I get in line with everyone else. Most everyone is chatting with their friends—however, no one wants to be friends with the weird girl who spends her free time analyzing the Hunger Games yet somehow still manages to be at the top of her class. How, you might ask? Well, ask someone else, because I have no clue.

Once all my food is piled on my plate, I turn and start searching for an empty table. It makes me nervous to just walk up to someone and demand—ahem, _ask_—to sit with them, and the following meal is just plain awkward and uncomfortable. I save everyone from the torture of having to endure my company by simply sitting alone. I don't really mind. I like being alone. I don't like being alone in the dark, mind you—but being alone on a sunlit hill, now that's a slice of heaven. Maybe with a good book, or a random Hunger Games to watch. My personal favorites are the thirty-sixth, seventy-fourth, one-hundred-ninth and one-hundred-fiftieth.

Finally I spot a table in the back corner of the dining hall and start to make my way toward it.

I'm not sure if someone's foot is sticking out (intentionally or unintentionally, I may never know) or maybe I just slipped, or there was a pebble, but the next thing I know, I'm collapsed in a heap on the linoleum floor, the remains of my mashed potatoes spread throughout my hair—exactly the way I wanted to spend my Monday morning.

I can hear the trainees around me laughing. Heat rises to my face, and I hurriedly get to my feet, trying to wring mashed potatoes from my ponytail. My head whips around for a moment, as if I'm trying to find a way to escape. I make a dash for the doors, trying to push the others out of my path.

Someone sticks their foot out into my path, and me, being the stupid, awkward idiot that I am, trip right over it, catapulting me forward and slamming my face against the tiles. My cheek burns as it becomes thoroughly acquainted with the ground.

"_This_ is the girl that took my spot in the Games?"

Oh no.

Probably looking terribly disheveled, I once more climb to my feet, refusing to meet her eyes. Natalie Puna was the favorite to be the chosen volunteer this year. She was always in second place, magically never able to beat me, no matter what she did. I try to ignore the tripping, the insults, the jeers, all of it out of spite alone. And it usually works. For others… it's different. There's no true animosity between us. But Natalie Puna? We've hated each other from day one. Does that stop me from being utterly terrified? No, of course it doesn't, and you're an idiot for thinking that.

"Hi, Natalie," I nearly whisper, trying to make sure that my voice is audible. "How ya doing?"

"I'm sure I would be better if _I _was chosen to volunteer this year," Natalie replies curtly, getting up close to my face. I try to steel my features, doing my best to appear stoic and unfazed. News flash: it doesn't work. See, I'm not very good at stoic and unfazed.

"It's not—it's n-not my fault," I say defensively, taking a step backward. Natalie is easily a head taller than I am.

"But it is," Natalie says, reaching out and putting her large hand on my shoulder. I try to shake it off, but she holds firm. "You should have just let me have the spot. It would be so much easier on both of us—I would get what I want, and you wouldn't have to die. Much simpler, yes?"

_No_, I think, but I don't have the guts to say it out loud. At least, not in the presence of Natalie Puna. Instead, I just nod.

"So glad to see that we're both on the same page." Natalie's voice is bathed in fake cheeriness, fake friendlessness, to the point that even an idiot would never think she was being for real. Using her grip on my shoulder, she drags me through the dining hall, easily making the other trainees part around us, and out into the hall.

Oh no. Oh, god, no. She's got me alone. The last thing I want is to be alone with Natalie Puna.

"So, I'm sure you don't want to die, yes?" Natalie says, a strange, twisted smile plastered on her face. She doesn't wait for me to answer. "Of course you don't. Nobody does. And I think we can both agree that you'll never win, right?" Again, no time to answer. Not that—not that I was planning to, anyway. "Great! So, I was thinking, maybe you could save yourself the trouble, the trauma, the pain, the death, and just let me volunteer instead?" She ends her monologue with a strange, shrill note at the very end of 'instead'.

I glare at her. "I've been waiting for this for my entire life. I'm not giving—I'm not giving it up now."

_Yes, that sounds good. Confident. Not terrified. Keep doing that. _

Natalie drops all pretenses of friendliness. Her face contorts into rage, a death scowl becoming apparent on her tanned features. She takes a step toward me, pressing me up against the wall, jabbing her finger into my chest. "Listen here, Dominguez," she says in a low, menacing voice. A shiver runs down my spine. No, I'm not a coward, I'm not a coward, I'm not a coward, cowards never win the Hunger Games. I can't be a coward. Certainly not because of Natalie Puna. "_I'm_ the one who's supposed to volunteer. Not you. _Never_ you.

"You _will never win_," she continues. Her face is so close to mine that I can smell her breath. It's rancid. "You are an awkward little coward who just happens to have semi-useful aim. You are _nothing special_. What the academy sees in you that they don't see in me is beyond me." Fire flares in her eyes. "So you had better believe that come Reaping Day, I will be the one volunteering. _Not you_. You won't put on a good show. You won't give the Capitol what they want. You can't win. I know this, you know this, we all know this. Just save yourself the trouble and don't volunteer. Okay? Great."

She whirls around, stomping away, practically leaving a trail of fire behind her.

I sink to my knees, feeling tears well in my eyes. My mother once told me that everyone is mean to me because they're jealous. Envious of my skill. Of my power to focus, to pick out the little details.

I didn't believe her then, and I still don't now.

_Adrian Corvinus, 18_

"_I don't believe in heaven, since I've been living in this hell."_

**Ten Years Before the Reapings**

"Sir, you have to understand, we don't usually take kids this young—"

Father's harsh voice cuts over the secretary's, making the woman behind the counter jump. "They're eight years old, for God's sake! I'd say that's old enough to start training. Hell, I've heard in 1 they let kids as young as six train!"

"The Stander Academy has different policies—"

"They certainly didn't back when this hellhole first opened!" Father yells. "If Ares Stander were still here, he'd let them in—!"

"Sir, you need to calm down, or else I'll call security," the secretary says, doing her best to sound calm. I take a step away from the counter, trying to pull Aleksander with me, but his feet seem to be stuck to the ground. "Ares Stander is long dead, sir, and our policies have been forced to morph with the times. Now, if you have no _eligible_ children for our program, please make your way out of the Academy and come back once your sons turn ten."

I once more grab Aleksander's wrist, trying to pull him out of the hole his feet have seemingly made in the linoleum. For some reason, he is completely frozen. I know how opposed he was to training—but wouldn't that make him want to leave as quickly as possible?

"Come, boys," Father says, gripping both of us on the shoulders and trying to pull us along. Aleksander finally starts moving again, and I peer around Father's protruding stomach to look at my twin. Aleksander isn't looking at me; his eyes are trained on his feet, dancing along the tiles of the floor.

Father continues to drag us right past the front door. I look back over my shoulder, watching the glass doors slowly shrink as we walk further and further away until we round a corner and they disappear completely. Is there another exit he's taking us to? Or… somewhere else? I don't know my way around the Academy; I've never been here before. But why wouldn't we leave through the doors we came in?

Father stops in front of a dark mahogany door, emblazoned with the gilded words _Director of Trainees_. A fluorescent light above our heads flickers ominously, and Father knocks loudly on the door. Instead of waiting for someone to open it, he marches right in, shoving Aleksander and I forward.

A man sitting at the desk looks up, surprised. "Oh—ah, Viktor… do you have an appointment?"

"I hardly think I need one, Talbot." Father's tone is the most congenial I have ever heard it—he never sounds that nice when he talks to Aleksander and I. Maybe that's because he yells so much of his words to us? "As I'm sure you know, I have twin sons."

"Yes, of course I know this. They're standing right there," Talbot says, pointing at me. "But… Viktor, what is the purpose of this meeting? I'm supposed to choose the volunteers for the coming Games in fifteen minutes—"

"This won't take that long, I assure you," Father replies curtly. "Your secretary—I recommend firing her, she was very disrespectful—told me I could not enroll my sons in the training program because they are too young. Personally, I believe my sons are more than prepared to start training, even at their age—"

"So you want me let them in," Talbot says. He drags a hand down his face and sighs. "Viktor, I can't cave about these things every time someone wants to put their five-year-old in the Academy."

"We're eight," I say quietly. Talbot looks at me oddly. Father's glare is wrathful.

"Yes, they are eight, Talbot," Father continues as if nothing ever happened. "And… I'm sure there are _other factors _that could convince you to let them in." I see him finger his wallet in his coat pocket, and Talbot's eyes bulge.

The man at the desk pulls at the collar of his shirt. "I-I'm sorry, Viktor, I can't take bribery—"

"Let's say, five-hundred-thousand Caps?"

Talbot's eyes widen further. "Well—I suppose we could work something out—"

"That's what I thought," Father says tersely. He turns to Aleksander and says, "Boys, go get your things from the car." He looks back at Talbot. "I'll stay here and work out the details."

I grab Aleksander's wrist again and pull him from the room. We walk in silence down the hallway for a while until we round the corner and I say, "Are you excited to train, Alek?" I know what Aleksander's answer is already, but I feel the need to say something to fill the void.

"…no," Aleksander admits. "I don't… I don't want to go into the Games. Not now, not in ten years."

We pass a group of trainees and immediately fall silent. They look at us oddly as we walk by them. Aleksander averts his gaze, but I force myself to keep looking until the group moves on.

"Are you… are you excited to train, Adrian?" Aleksander asks softly.

"Yeah," I say. "Why aren't you excited?"

Aleksander doesn't say anything. We walk out through the glass doors and into the bright summery sky. The tiny parking lot has maybe two cars in it—one of them probably being owned by Talbot and the other by Father. Just by looking at Talbot's car, I can understand why he need those Caps. It's a clunky old thing, nothing like Father's sleek and shiny car.

I open up the trunk of Father's car and take out my threadbare belongings. Father may have hundreds of thousands of Caps to throw around like candy, but he won't spend one extra on either of us. After all, we are the reason Mother is dead. Why waste money on us if we never do anything useful? After all, we're only good for something if we make him money, and the best way to do that is to win the Games. And if we don't? It's a win-win. If we lose, he doesn't have to deal with two worthless sons. If we win, we make him loads of money and give him a nice, big house to live in.

Aleksander takes out his bag and shuts the trunk. I glance at the sleek car as we start toward the doors. Father is practically abandoning us—he said so on the way over here. When will I see that car again? Will I ever? Or will I spend the next ten years wasting away in a training academy for Father's personal gain, never even getting chosen as the Volunteer? Ninety percent of trainees never even get chosen, and it's likely I won't be one of the lucky ten percent that do.

But I can't let myself be a failure. I have to prove to Father that I am useful, that I can amount to something. Maybe Aleksander doesn't feel the same way, but I will make my father proud. And there's only one way to do that: win the Hunger Games.

**A/N: I think I made Guadalupe way more sarcastic than I should have… oops. I feel like I did a really terrible job on her in the first place. Anyway, what do you think of Guadalupe? Of Adrian? Who will last longer? Who do you prefer? **

**Also, I know Fragrance was kind of confusing. But everything will make sense come the train rides.**

**Random Question of the Day: cats or dogs?**

**My answer: Cats. Dogs are great, but cats are better. **

**-Amanda**


	6. District 3 - Pay It Forward

**A/N: I'm back with District 3! These two lovely tributes are from DefoNotAFangirl (Delta) and Annabeth Pie (Achilles).**

**Chapter 5 – Pay It Forward**

_Achilles Spearman, 17_

"_Everyone has something special inside them, you just need the strength and determination to unlock it."_

**Five Years Before the Reapings**

It's just my first Reaping. I won't be Reaped, not even with all Orpheus has done to get my name in that bowl. I've never understood his strange hatred for me. We should be best friends; we're identical twins, after all. We should be close, not enemies. Orpheus tried to sign me up for tesserae—Mom and Dad caught him, though, and couldn't understand why he could do something like that. We don't need tessera.

No matter what, I'll be fine. I _have_ to be fine. Dad's weak heart will give out if Orpheus or I are ever Reaped. But we'll be fine. We always are.

I follow Orpheus to check-in and get my finger pricked. It doesn't hurt, not like I thought it might, but maybe it's worse to others. I've always had a high pain tolerance. Sometimes so high that I don't notice I'm hurt. That doesn't happen often though; I realize in time, and it's not like I've ever been hurt to the point of bleeding to death.

I power ahead of Orpheus, moving to the front of the twelve-year-olds section. Orpheus appears over my shoulder, but I don't pay him any attention. I've always tried to ignore him, and it's usually not very hard. Orpheus uses elementary school level annoyance tactics, but I would guess as we get older he'll get worse. Or maybe he'll realize that we're supposed to love each other and stop being this way. But I have my doubts. Orpheus doesn't change for anyone or anything. He doesn't care. He just blindly hates and hopes everything works out okay.

I would have thought he would figure it out before: it hasn't worked out okay. We have a broken relationship, hardly even friends, let alone family, and it's all because of him. He has pushed up apart for our entire lives, and there's no way to heal a rift that large. I know a pair of twins from our school, and they are inseparable. When I was little, I could never understand why Orpheus couldn't just let us be like that, but I know now that Orpheus is simply a bitter and jealous person.

Our escort, who I think is new to our district, Alenius Babbage, walks up to the stage, looking slightly nervous. The mayor has long since finished his address, the video has played, and now all that's left is the reaping. My name is only in one time. One single slip. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.

Alenius picks a girl name—a fourteen-year-old named Alia who bursts in tears—and then moves on to the boys. I tense my shoulders, crossing my fingers as Alenius digs through the bowl like his life depends on it. He plucks three different slips and returns to the microphone, examining each before finally deciding on one. As he throws the other two slips over his shoulder, he announces, "And the male tribute from District 3 is… Achilles Spearman!"

The moment my name leaves his lips, there is movement in the viewing section. I stumble forward, looking around wildly for the source of the noise. Finally an ear-splitting shriek of, "MEDIC! MEDIC!" pierces through the square as I just keep stupidly stumbling for the stage.

"What's going on down there?" Alenius says aloud, looking off into the viewing section. "Is someone hurt? Do we need a doctor?" His voice isn't urgent like I think it should be. No, he simply sounds… hopeful? Like this is a way to get noticed. Yes, someone dies at a reaping… a very easy way to get noticed.

The Peacekeepers, despite… whatever is going on over there, still descend upon me, the one who was Reaped, the one who has been condemned to death.

That's when it hits me: I've just been Reaped.

In all of this chaos, I had hardly even noticed. Noticed the fact that twelve-year-olds almost _never_ win—there have only been five of them, such a small fraction that I'll never join their ranks—and now, I am going to die. I'll probably die in the Bloodbath, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die—

Suddenly, a strong voice cuts through the chaos with a shout of, "I volunteer!"

I freeze in the middle of my Peacekeeper corral, halfway to the stage. The Peacekeepers stop as well, looking around for their brave volunteer—the volunteer who has just saved my life.

"Oh! A volunteer?" Alenius exclaims, clapping his hands together and taking a step back. "Come on up, come on up! What a shocking Reaping here in District 3!"

The volunteer—someone I recognize, but I don't know the name of—leaves the eighteen-year-olds section and mounts the stage. "I'm… Jeremy Thomas," he says when Alenius asks.

The Peacekeepers let me go, and Orpheus appears from nowhere, grabbing my wrist tightly and pulling me through the crowd. "Orpheus!" I exclaim. "What's going on? Where are we going?"

He looks more terrified than I've ever seen him. We run right past the Peacekeepers and into the viewing section, where the crowd parts to let us through. Something is wrong—really, truly, terribly wrong. They needed a medic… is someone dead? But why… why would that affect me?

That's when I spot him. My father, laying gray and lifeless upon the ground, his eyes wide and bloodshot. My mother kneels next to him, holding his hand as another man leans over him, my father—no, my father's corpse. I knew he couldn't live with the stress he was putting on himself, but this was the final straw. Mother said he always had a weak heart, that he couldn't live with this type of immense stress.

My father is dead.

I sink to my knees as the tributes are taken into the Justice Building, hardly giving Jeremy Thomas, the boy who saved my life, second thought. I don't know Jeremy Thomas, but I do—did—know my father. And now he's _dead_. Is it my fault? Could I have done something differently, found a way to not be Reaped?

…no.

How could I have? I didn't tell Alenius to choose my slip from thousands. My mind wanders back to those three slips he plucked from the bowl. If he had just chosen a different slip… none of this would have ever happened.

I jump to my feet. "I have to say goodbye."

"What?" Orpheus sneers. "To Father? He's already dead; you're a little bit late."

"No!" I exclaim. "To Jeremy Thomas—he saved my life!"

I push through the crowd, but no one really wants to oppose me. I have to say goodbye! I have to thank him, to ask him why he did it. Why give up his life for mine? Surely mine does not mean as much as his does.

I've never been in the Justice Building before. Not even for tesserae, as I've never taken any. But still, I make a bee-line for the goodbye rooms.

"I didn't think you'd come," Jeremy says as the Peacekeepers close the door, reminding me that I have only two minutes. "I thought you would want to stay with your father."

"…he's dead," I say softly. "…thank you."

"Don't mention it," Jeremy replies, leaning back in his chair. "you've still got a lot of life to live. I've got nothing. I'll feel better knowing that I saved someone when I die." He looks up for a moment. "Just… do me a favor, okay? Pay it forward. I don't care if you volunteer for someone one day, or if you just say hello to someone on the street."

"…of course." My voice is slightly shaky as I say it. "I will. I promise to do some good in this world."

Jeremy smiles, albeit half-heartedly. "Thanks, kid. Don't waste what I've given you."

The Peacekeepers open the door and force me to leave. If only I had known this would be the last time I ever see Jeremy Thomas, maybe I would have said more. Maybe I would thanked him more profusely. But I was too naïve, too confused to say anything more.

There was just one thing on my mind: I would pay it forward. One day, I'll save someone else. All in Jeremy's name.

_Delta Bishop, 15_

"_We all need something to get through the day. Don't judge us for what we have."_

**Two Months Before the Reapings**

This old house I've taken residence in is far from where I'd like to live.

However, there are only so many safe places for people like me. I've never understood why so many people hate the Sector for a Living Panem. We're not doing anything wrong. We're not trying to hurt them. All we do is offer a new world view, a better way of life. But they're all too dumb to see that.

I stoop down to the dirt as voices echo outside of the building. This place is rickety, but it's currently my only refuge until I can find a way back home. It's a dangerous world I live in. District 3 may be the only place in Panem that isn't a cesspool of evil, but even here has its corrupt parts. Unfortunately, that is currently where I am hiding.

"There's someone in there," one of the voices says. It's a Peacekeeper, I'm sure of it. Peacekeepers can't even be called Peacekeepers—they hate SALP. In my eyes, they should hardly be given weapons, let alone placed in a position of power. But once our leader becomes the mayor of 3, I'm sure all those ridiculous 'peacekeepers' will go away.

I get to my feet, slinking toward the back door. There always has to be a back door.

"Over there!" one of the Peacekeepers yells. I spring into action, throwing open the door and sprinting out into the street. I push past the small amount of people wandering about in their meaningless, ignorant lives. My feet pound against the ground, sending jolts up my calves as my legs burn. I would stop. If the Peacekeepers wouldn't capture me and ruin everything. But I can't. I'll reach the Sector soon and everything will be fine.

"Stop!" another Peacekeeper yells. Finally my lungs burn too much and I duck into an open doorway, another abandoned building. There's so many in this corrupt part of 3. At least it makes it easier to find a place to hide.

As soon as I stop running and round a corner, I run headfirst into someone. The collision sends both of us sprawling to the ground, and once I recover I finally realize who I ran into.

My future husband.

It's not weird or anything. It's normal. Everyone in SALP is arranged to marry someone else. That's just how things are. I'm pretty sure that's how it is all over Panem. My parents were arranged after my mother joined the cult. Everybody copes with the shit that is Panem in a different way, but my mother just found the best way. People often think we're rebels. No. They couldn't be further from the truth. We aren't trying to take down the Capitol or anything. We just want a better quality of life, and that's what SALP offers us.

We don't even have that many rules. Of course, no one would ever break the small amount that we do have, me included. You'd have to be insane to step out of line! I can't fathom a reason anyone would have to do that.

"Hi, Gabriel," I greet cordially. It's somewhat strange to think that one day Gabriel and I will be married, and we'll have children together. But I know better than to question it. That's one rule of our most important rules. "What are you doing here?"

Gabriel is the son of our leader. Sometimes, he seems completely devoted to our cult, but sometimes… sometimes he asks too many questions. I get the feeling he doesn't like me very much, but there's not much he can do. Besides, I'm not giving up the chance to be married to our leader. It's the highest honor one can be awarded. "Hello, Delta," he says quietly. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I was being chased," I say evenly. "The Peacekeepers saw me in an old building. All I was doing was trying to get back to the Sector."

"Ah," he says thoughtfully. "I was just out for a walk."

I look at him oddly. No one just 'goes for a walk', especially not outside of the Sector. That's dangerous. But Gabriel always has viewed himself above the rules. And while he won't get nearly as a bad of a punishment if he does step out of line, he would still be scorned and shamed by the other members of SALP. "Oh, okay. Shall we walk back together?"

Gabriel nods. "Yes, let's."

He takes my arm; it's all in the appearances, right? His mother will certainly be happy to see us together. I force a smile onto my face. Nothing could ruin my way of life. Absolutely, positively nothing.

**A/N: Three reapings down, nine to go. Anyway, what do you think of Achilles? Of Delta? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer? **

**By the way, the District 10 male is still open! **

**Random Question of the Day: of the six tributes introduced so far, who is your favorite?**

**My answer: not going to answer this one. Don't want to play favorites, after all. **

**I'll be back with District 4 in a few days. **

**Until then,**

**-Amanda**


	7. District 4 - My Fault

**A/N: Arthur comes from Guesttwelve and Marina comes from Sparky She-Demon. **

**Chapter 6 – My Fault**

_Marina Galindez, 17_

"_When you see a great white shark, go the other way."_

**Two Years Before the Reapings**

The sea seems quiet at this time of day—or, you know, night—which is why I like to be out then. While I love a good adventure as much as the next person, the occasional calm night on ocean does wonders for my mental state.

"Stars are pretty tonight," Caspar says from beside me. He's really my only friend. Any other kid our age that I know trains. I mean, I don't have any room to talk, seeing as I train as well, but at least I exist beyond my hope to win the Hunger Games. "I've heard in some districts, like 8 and 6, the pollution is so bad you can't even see the moon most nights."

I nod, staring up at the stars above our head. This boat is kind of old and rickety, but at least it still floats. It comes from my family's fleet of fishing boats, but no one uses it anymore. That's why I figured no one would miss it if we took it out in the middle of the night. "They don't have oceans in 8 or 6 either."

"I've heard 8 and 6 are really dangerous, but at least they don't have the worries we have here," Caspar agrees, nodding. He folds his arms behind his head, stretching and sighing contentedly. "Marina… do you hear that?"

I perk up, listening intently. Finally I here it. A soft splashing in the water, waves bashing up against our boat. "Maybe it's a shark!" I exclaim, sitting up. There has been a couple of shark attacks recently, haven't there? But sharks don't just come and bump up against a boat and say 'hey, how's it going, can I eat you for dinner?' I guess I would be happier being eaten by a shark if the shark asked politely first. Could I fight a shark? Well, I'm sure I could, but I could I win? It would probably be fun to try.

"I'm going to go check it out," Caspar says decisively, getting to his feet.

"Let's go!" I exclaim, following Caspar toward the edge of the boat. Being out here in the middle of the night with an old boat my parents all but threw away makes this whole adventure even more exciting. And if there _is_ a shark in the water… as long as neither of us die, everyone will want to know the story! Caspar may not train at the academy, but I certainly do. Maybe I'll get a cool scar from it! I know a few kids with scars from shark attacks and other incidents, and they look awesome. "Let's go check it out."

"Do you think it might be a shark?" Caspar asks excitedly, kneeling down by the edge of the boat and leaning over. I bend down next to him and peer over the ledge, looking at the calm water.

"Look," I say softly, pointing out in the water. There, a stark contrast from the dark, starry night, is a fin, sticking from the water. "It is a shark!" I jump to my feet. "Caspar, this is so cool! I've never seen one in person."

The shark swims forward, coming closer to our boat and sending light waves slapping up against the rickety, wooden hull. "I don't like this anymore," Caspar says, standing up. "Come on, Marina. Let's get out of here."

"It's not hurting us, Casp." I shake my head. "Isn't this cool? Sharks _never_ come near boats." The shark powers forward again, and Caspar jumps back.

"Marina, come on! This is dangerous. That shark could _kill_ us!"

"Don't be such a coward, Casp," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's not like it can jump into the boat and eat us." The shark is so close that I could touch its fin… how many people can say they've done that? I slowly reach out my hand, intent on touching the fin.

Suddenly Caspar slams his shoulder into mine, sending me sprawling onto the deck. "Caspar, what the fuck?" I yell, shakily getting to my feet. "…Caspar?" I call. He's gone. Oh my god, he's gone. Where is he? "Caspar!" I shout, running toward the side of the boat.

"Marina!" Caspar yells, treading water a few feet from the boat. "Marina, give me your hand! Pull me into the boat!"

"Caspar!" I scream. "The shark!"

"What?" Caspar splutters, his head whipping around just in time to see the shark right at his back. "Marina! Pull me in! Now!"

I lean out over the ledge, reaching as far as I can. Caspar's hand grasps around mine and I desperately start trying to pull him through the water. The shark's fin disappears below the surface, and few seconds later Caspar starts flailing and screaming.

"Caspar!" I shout again, pulling harder. He just keeps screaming. Oh god, has he been bitten? Is Caspar going to die? Oh my god, this is all my fault, this is all my fault, all my fault, all my fault, all my fault—

Finally with one last pull I yank him out the water and onto the boat deck. Oh my god, there's so much blood, there's _so much blood_, he's going to die, he's going to die, there's nothing I can do, I don't know how to fix shark bites!

"Okay, okay, it's okay, you're okay…" I ramble, the words falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. His entire left leg is shredded and drenched in blood, and his face is so pale. Am I too late? Is he already dead? No, he can't be, he can't be… "Casp, you've got to stay with me. I'm going to get the boat back shore, we'll get you medical attention, you're going to be okay…"

"Marina…" Caspar whispers weakly. His voice sounds so pained. "don't… don't bother—"

"I'm not going to let you die here, Caspar!" I cry. "I can't let you die. Not here. Not now. Not ever!"

"Mar—marina…" Caspar repeats, cutting off my rambling. "let—let… let me go."

Tears spill freely out of my eyes. "No! I need you, Caspar! I need you…"

Caspar forces a weak smile. "You…you'll be… be okay…"

I choke back a sob when his face goes slack and the little color his face had retained drains away. His hand drops to the deck, landing with a soft thud. "Caspar," I whisper through my tears. "Caspar, wake up…" My words are interrupted by a violent sob that forces its way up my throat. "Caspar, please… it's not funny… wake up…"

But it doesn't matter what I say; Caspar is dead, and it's all my fault.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

"_A true friend is someone who never stands down, also the ocean can go to hell."_

**One Year Before the Reapings**

I hate water.

It's ironic, and makes my life harder than it should, but it's not like I decided to be this way. It's not like I asked for… any of this. Everyone else in 4 feels completely comfortable and competent on the water and I don't even want to look at the ocean, let alone take a boat out on it.

It's unfortunate that the open water is the exact place I am right now.

While I've long since moved past the phase that directly followed… the _incident_, where I couldn't even look at the water without freaking out. Now, the ocean just makes me nervous. I'm normally fine, as long as I don't actually get on a boat and go out onto the water.

I thought I had accepted the inevitability that I will have to get back out here eventually. It's only been a year—actually, twelve months and thirteen days. Not that I've been counting or anything. It's a miracle I've managed to avoid the water for this long. I knew my father would get me back out here eventually, but I wasn't prepared for how terrifying this was going to be.

"Come on, Arthur," Dad calls from the deck above. He's the only person left in my family after the… um, thing. The event from twelve months and thirteen days ago. The event which is one of the only topics I refuse to speak about, acknowledge the existence of… even think about it, really. "Come get your gear."

"Right, yeah," I say, glancing nervously at the edge of the boat, the water lapping against the hull. As I walk down the side of the ship and toward the stairs, I force myself to look away from the ocean to my right. The land is so far away, and the water is so deep. If someone were to fall in, it would be just like… just like… just like that night…

I take another step, the flimsy toe of my shoe hitting a loose floorboard and throwing me head-first over the railing. I don't even have time to cry out for help before I hit the water, sinking like a stone, trashing and flailing around. No, no, no, no, no, no… I _do _know how to swim—I used to love doing it. I used to do it every day…

I try to take in breath as my lungs burn, instead stupidly inhaling water. A red haze starts to fill my head and vision… I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, just like Mom and Sala… I'm going to drown, in District 4! No, no, no, no, no, no—

Suddenly, a hand closes around my shoulder and starts pulling me upward. I try to stop my thrashing, trying to convince myself that someone has found me, that I'm not going to drown like Mom and Sala, that I'm not going to die…

"Hey, hey, Arthur, breathe," a gentle voice says. I start coughing as soon as I realize that I'm on solid ground, not in the water, I'm no longer going to die…!

"Did your kid really almost drown, Hay?" another voice asks from above me. "He's fifteen, ain't he? I would think he should be able to swim by now!"

"I can—can swim—thank—thank you—very—very much-" I splutter between coughs.

"Then why didn't ya?"

"Avian, don't you have better things to do?" Dad asks. "We've gotta take the boat back to shore soon anyway. Go bother your own kids."

Avian grumbles something unintelligible but thankfully stalks away.

"Alright, Arthur, we'll be back to the mainland soon," Dad says bracingly, patting my shoulder as I slowly sit up.

We're still on the water. Of course we are. We are _always_ on the water, aren't we?

…

As soon as I get off the boat, I hurry down the beach toward the tide pools, and more importantly, the cave. The cave where Jackly and Elva hopefully are right now. I don't want to be alone, not when I'm soaking wet and all I will have to do at home is sit.

A few years ago, when I was thirteen, a man named Dorian Jacques was arrested just outside of the Faustus Academy, where I used to train. Dorian had been on the run for years, a known rebel that was deemed highly dangerous. And since he was found here, right outside Faustus, the Capitol assumed Dorian was associated with them. In an effort to dispel this, the Faustus executives kicked out anyone who could be considered 'rebellious', and that included Jackly and Elva.

That didn't sit well with me. And so I dropped out, and we started our own little academy in this cave. It did involve stealing, but… desperate times call for desperate measures.

I pull myself up into the cave, hearing the sound of metal clashing inside.

"Hey, Arthur!" Jackly exclaims, wiping sweat off his forehead and dropping his trident. "How'd the trip go—why are you soaked?"

"Got in a fight with, like, seven sharks," I joke. "I won, though."

Elva rolls her eyes from her seat on the ground. "Did you manage okay?"

"Yeah," I say immediately, doing my best to convince them that everything was fine and that I didn't almost drown. "You guys gonna go home soon?"

"Nah," Jackly replies, flopping down on the ground beside Elva. "My parents won't be home for hours. So I figure I'll stay here and practice for a while. What about you?"

"I'm staying," I say firmly.

"Alright," Jackly says, getting to his feet. "Want to spar?"

"What's the point?" I respond. "I'll beat you no matter what."

Jackly rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"You know my aim is better than either of you will ever have," I say assuredly.

"That is _not_ true," Elva says in a low voice, standing up. "I can shoot a bow better than you ever will be able to."

I take a step back. "How _dare_ you?"

"I'm just telling the truth," Elva says airily, starting to walk away. "You know me, I never lie."

"That's the biggest lie _I've_ ever heard," I growl hotly. "My bow skills are unparalleled."

"Oh, really?" Elva replies. "Wanna test that theory?"

I open my mouth to reply, but Jackly stands in between us and says. "Oh, come on, guys. Can't you just agree that you both have good aim?"

Elva and I stare at each other angrily for a few moments before she says, "Yeah, whatever."

"As long as we agree my skills are better," I reply, only half-joking.

Elva starts to laugh. "Whatever you say, O Great King Arthur."

Both Jackly and I burst out laughing. I can't imagine how weird it must sound to someone down on the beach, hearing the laughter of a couple of teenagers echoing down from the tidepools, probably sounding quite eerie. We try to keep our cave a secret, but in this moment I can't bring myself to care.

**A/N: What do you think of Arthur? Of Marina? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer? **

**Four reapings down, eight to go. I'm hoping to reach the Capitol by the end of June, but that is probably unattainable. That's my goal, anyways. **

**Random Question of the Day: If you had the world's attention for thirty seconds, what would you say?**

**My answer: nothing. I would probably start sobbing because anything I said would be seen as wrong by someone. **

**-Amanda**


	8. District 5 - The Snobbiest of Them All

**A/N: Both of these tributes come from Sparky She-Demon.**

**Chapter 7 – The Snobbiest of Them All**

_Connor Merlyn, 18_

"_There's more to me than my family being loaded."_

**Six Years Before the Reapings**

I've been going to this school—the most prestigious in all of 5, but that's not important—for six years, and still have no real friends. I have a lot of acquaintances, but never once have I had someone over to hang out, or actually had people to invite to birthday parties. It's not like I'm a hermit, or terribly anti-social. No, it's just that most people who go here are complete snobs.

It's crazy that there are true snobs in District 5, of all places, but what can you expect? There are snobs everywhere. Someone will always look down their nose at someone else, someone will always be viewed as lesser. District 5 is no different, and I doubt that it ever will.

One would be hard pressed to find someone who is truly 'nice' here. The nicest kids (and unfortunately, the ones who are always viewed as lesser) are the ones who go here because of scholarships. I don't fit into that category. I happen to be the son of one of the richest men in this entire district. People seem to think I should be the snobbiest of them all, but I can't see why. Yes, I have money. Yes, I go to this school. Who cares?

I slowly shut my locker door, sighing and slinging my backpack over my shoulder. The school is almost empty—class got out fifteen minutes ago, after all. Most people either don't want to or can't stick around and loiter. I guess it's different for me. Everything is always different for me.

"And then I said something that warranted this whole long story!"

I perk up at the voice that echoes down the hall. I don't recognize that voice. While that is not saying much, seeing as I don't recognize the voices of most people in this school, it is a very unfamiliar voice.

A trio of three kids round the corner, still engrossed in their conversation. The boy in the middle is talking animatedly with his hands, looking back and forth between his two companions. I don't know him.

The boy on the left might be in my english class. I think his name starts with an _L_, but I may be wrong. He is nodding along to his friend's words, but I don't think he's really paying attention. He has some sort of hand-held game in his hands and seems to be focusing on that more than his friend's words.

The girl on the right, though, I recognize. Sabrina Byrne. She's one of the prettiest girls in our grade, maybe even at the entire school. I've never seen her with either of these boys. I don't have her in any classes, though, so maybe she's been friends with these guys for a long time.

Should I talk to them? They don't seem like they want to be bothered right now. Maybe I should just leave them alone. I don't know them. They don't know me. We're not obligated to speak.

"Hey," the boy in the middle says as they pass me.

"Hello," I greet, punctuating my sentence with a sigh.

"You're Connor Merlyn, aren't you?" Sabrina says, pausing in front of me.

"…yes?" I say. "Why does it matter?"

"I was just wondering, jeez," Sabrina replies, turning and rejoining her companions.

"That was Connor Merlyn?" the boy in the middle whispers to Sabrina as they walk away, glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah," Sabrina said, clearly not bothering to whisper. "Apparently he's just as snobby as they say."

"That's not true!" I exclaim. "I'm not snobby."

"Really?" Sabrina says, pivoting around to face me. "You sure seem to _act _like a snob."

"Well, I'm not," I defend, crossing my arms over my chest. "I know _true_ snobs, and I definitely don't fall into that category."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Sabrina rolls her eyes as the boy in the middle tugs on her sleeve.

"Come on, Sabrina, don't get into an argument with him," he mumbles. "His dad can probably take out hits on you and your family or something. If you piss him off, you know."

"I'm not taking hits out on anyone," I say, slightly taken aback. "Is… is that really what people think I am?"

"Uh, yeah," the boy says in a tone that suggests it should have been obvious. "Where else would you have gotten all your money from?"

"It's called owning power plants," I say sharply. "My father is not a drug lord. Go to 6 if you want that sort of stuff."

For a moment, none of them speak. Then the boy in the middle bursts out laughing, doubling over and falling to knees. I take a step back, surprised and startled. "Um," I say aloud, standing rigid and unmoving. "Is he… is he okay?"

Sabrina rolls her eyes and pulls her friend to his feet. "Yeah, he's fine." She glares daggers at me for a second before saying, "Felix is just being weird."

The boy on the left looks up from his game for a moment and says, "Felix is always weird."

"Hey!" Felix exclaims indignantly. I don't really know how to react. Am I supposed to say something? Am I supposed to walk away? Stand here? Stare at them?

Before I have to make any sort of a decision, Felix extends his hand, still laughing slightly and says, "Felix Belmont, by the way."

For a moment, all I do is look at his hand. I've shaken many hands in my life, but never one of someone my age. I quickly grab Felix's hand, realizing I have been staring for way too long to be normal.

"By the way, that's Lucas," Felix says, pointing toward his friend on the left. That was his name! I was right, it did start with an _L_. Felix elbows Lucas. "Lucas. Lucas!"

Lucas looks up from his device for a few seconds. "Hey." He immediately puts his attention back to his game, and I feel a laugh bubble out of my mouth.

"And, you know, that's Sabrina," Felix says, now pointing at Sabrina, who refuses to meet my eyes. She has her arms crossed and is looking up, still seeming ticked off. "She's weird."

"You're weird," Sabrina shoots back, and I laugh again. She glares. "Can you not?"

"Not what?" I reply.

She scowls for a few more moments, but I can tell she's having difficulty not laughing. Finally she lets her glare break and a smile replaces it, and I'm suddenly struck by how pretty she is. I quickly shake the thought from my head and listen to her musical laugh.

When I come to school the next day, Felix and Sabrina are at my locker. None of us act like we just met yesterday. Without even trying, I found myself friends. Who knew it could be so easy?

_Hydra Bekkar, 14_

"_Cut off one head, and two more will grow in its place."_

**Eleven Months Before the Reapings**

"Arthur!" I call as I walk through our dumpy little house. It's not surprising. We have to keep moving because the Peacekeepers keep finding us and threatening to execute all of us if we don't talk. I don't know why they bother. Everybody knows they're too cowardly to actually hurt us. They hardly even bother chasing me anymore, because they know they'll never catch me.

In the silence of the evening, I find myself wondering where the hell Arthur is. He's been disappearing a lot in the past few months. Whenever I question him about it, he always says he's out doing rebel work. But I have a built in lie-detector. I'm smarter than Arthur ever will be, and he's never been into the family business. I don't know why. The Capitol is a crawling cesspool of scumbags who are only out for their personal gain. Why can't he see that?

"Arthur, where are you?" I yell again, getting impatient. He should be home! Where the hell is he? "Arthur!"

I pass a broken bookshelf and glance at the wall behind it. I don't regularly spend time staring at walls, but the bookshelf seems to be pushed further out than usual. Whatever. Someone probably just bumped into it. I'll get someone to fix it later. I've got better things to spend my time doing. "Arthur!"

"In here, Hy!" Finally. I stalk toward the living room, looking around for Arthur as I exit the hallway.

"Why weren't you—" My sentence is suddenly cut off as someone wraps there arms around my chest, pulling me toward their torso and holding me there as I struggle, trying to pull my limbs free. I spot Arthur seated on the couch-mattress, looking at me with barely hidden contempt. "What the fuck, Arthur? What is this?" I start to look around, and suddenly realize that the room is filled with Peacekeepers in their ridiculous white uniforms.

The Head Peacekeeper is sitting beside Arthur, nodding. "Now, you said something about your parents?"

"Where are our parents, Hydra?" Arthur demands, standing up and getting in my face.

I spit on his nose. "Like I'd ever tell you, _traitor_." I struggle some more, trying to free my arms so I can strangle him. "This is what you've been doing? Planning to get us executed?"

"This is for the greater good," Arthur says, clearly fighting to keep himself composed. I've always gotten on his nerves, and for once I can truly use that to my advantage. "You'll see."

The Head Peacekeeper appears, grabbing Arthur's shoulder and gently pulling him away from me. "Hydra, your parents are wanted for murder. They caused a power plant meltdown that killed twenty-four workers." His voice is kinder, more gentle than I thought it would be. I don't care though; he's wrong.

"It was for the greater good," I snarl, balling my hands into fists and desperately wishing I could deck him in the nose. He doesn't even have his mask on.

"That power plant furnished seventy percent of Districts 6 and 8's electricity. It took four weeks to get it back online. Factories were unable to run. People were executed for not making their quotas. All that just adds to your parents' rising body count." All pretenses of kindness are gone from the man's voice now, replaced by anger and malice. I've never been good at making things easy; it's more fun to watch people get angry, anyway.

"Sir, if I may—" Arthur begins, but is quickly cut off by the Head Peacekeeper.

"You may not, Solider Bekkar," he says curtly, never even taking his attention off me.

I gasp, feeling anger boil through my veins. "You haven't just been planning to turn us in to the Peacekeepers; you've been becoming one!" I shout, as if I am accusing Arthur of great crimes. And I am: treason to the cause.

"When we find your parents," Head says, completely ignoring my words. "they will be executed, for treason against the Capitol and murder of innocents. You would be executed as well, but seeing as you are a minor, we cannot get permission to end your life. And, in lieu of simply Avoxing you, we have devised a solution.

"You will remain in our custody for the next eleven months, and come Reaping Day, you will volunteer." Head purses his lips, glaring at me as I interrupt his lovely monologue.

"What if I refuse?" I demand, wishing I could cross my arms.

"If you refuse, we take you after the Reaping and Avox you. Simple."

"Sounds like a better solution to me," I scoff, scowling. I really, really wish I could cross my arms.

"_But_," Head says tartly. "if you win, all charges against you will be dropped. You will be allowed to do whatever you want, for we cannot execute Victors. Sounds much better than being an Avox, no?" Everything is silent as they clearly as letting me think this over.

Maybe that _is_ a better solution. All I have to do is win the Hunger Games. Simple. And then, I'm off the hook. I can continue doing exactly what I have been since I was a child, and no one will be able to tell me no. I'm starting to like this plan.

Finally I look up. "Fine. I'll volunteer next year."

"Wonderful," Head says, his voice suddenly becoming cheery and gentle again. "Of course, we'll need to know where your parents are hiding, since they clearly aren't here. Remember…"

"They're just out," I say softly. Each word I say feels like knives cutting into my skin. What am I doing? I can't sell out my family—at least not the traitorous parts—like this! In the grand scheme of things, I matter much, much less than my parents do. But… being in the Hunger Games is a good way to get our message out there. We need this chance. And so I continue to talk. "They went out for food. They'll be back by midnight."

"You had better not be wrong, Miss Bekkar," Head says. He turns around and starts to bark orders to his troops, telling them to stay here and wait for my parents to come home. Finally he turns to the man holding me down and says, "Put her in handcuffs and take her to the Justice Building. Find a holding cell. We'll deal with her later."

As they march me out of the dumpy little house, I overhear Head say something to Arthur. "Good job, Solider Bekkar. We've been trying to shake these rebels out of hiding for years. We'll be sending you to District 2 to join Peacekeeper Training."

My limbs start to shake with rage at my traitorous brother. Never once has he done something to help the cause. Well, now that he's done this, he, and all the other loyalists, will pay for this. They should have Avoxed me when they had the chance.

**A/N: Hi, yes, I am not dead. Surprising, I'm sure. I'm sorry if this chapter was terrible. I really just had to force myself to work on this. **

**What do you think of Connor? Of Hydra? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer?**

**Random Question of the Day: out of the tributes introduced so far, which do you think is most likely to win?**

**My answer: not going to answer this one. Can't give spoilers. (Because, yes, I do have a pretty good idea of who is winning.)**

**See you in the few days with District 6. **

**-Amanda**


	9. District 6 - Just Business

**Chapter 8 – Just Business**

_Mercy Mitsui, 16_

"_Don't worry about anything, Pops. I've killed grown men. I can handle a few kids."_

**Six Weeks Before the Reaping**

This man before me hasn't paid up. He bought the goods, he used the goods, now he needs to give us what he owes. His face is pale, completely drained of color, because he can see the gun in my hand. He knows what is about to happen.

I stick out my hand slowly. "Pay up, Wheeler."

"N—no—" he stammers. "Please! You have to understand! My daughters are starving—"

"And who's fault is that?" I ask coldly. "If I remember correctly, you made the deal. You bought the goods. You used the goods. No going back now, am I correct? Now you have to pay up." I slowly close and reopen my hand, looking at his drawn face. There are so many people in 6 like this. I've told my father many times that they need to pay before they get the goods, but he has his reasons for what he does. Many of our patrons get away with their stuff without paying a dime—aside from a mean case of death, anyway.

"Please! Please!" Wheeler begs on his knees, holding his hands out in front of him as if in prayer. "Have mercy!"

"My name may be Mercy, but that doesn't mean I have any," I growl, turning to Tabitha. She squeaks in surprise, jumping backward. "Here." I thrust the gun into her hands. "Do away with the filth, Tabitha."

"No!" she exclaims, dropping the gun to the ground. I bend over and pick it up.

"You'd better be glad the safety was on—" I snarl, pushing the gun back toward her shaking hands. I lean toward her head and whisper in her ear, "You know, you mother hasn't paid recently… how would you fare in the Community Home? Would Warren play hero and come save you, or would he leave you to rot?"

Her eyes widen, and I notice that her shoulders and hands are trembling. She needs to get that under control, unless she wants to shoot me instead of Wheeler. That will not work out well for her… the last person who tried to hurt me ended up dead. I will never admit this out loud, but I like Tabitha. I admire her bravery. One day, I hope she can become my right hand man when I take over the Red Lizard Gang, and if I have to have her brother hanging over her head, then so be it. The world can do without Warren Oto, anyway.

Sometimes the only way to make friends is to control them. I know this. Many people don't. But that just makes me better than them. Smarter. Stronger. Less attached to the world around me. The less attached you are, the easier it is to do this.

"Come on, Tabitha," I urge in a low voice, pushing her toward Wheeler. He could run. But even someone as low as him isn't crazy enough to try that. He's not a true addict. Addicts are our best customers. He just likes the feeling, but if what he says about his daughters is true, he doesn't allow himself that feeling often. At least he has restraint. Many of our patrons cannot say the same thing.

"Okay—okay," Tabitha says, steeling herself for what she is about to do. I've never understood why some people find these things so difficult; it's not personal. That's just how it is. If you don't pay with money, you pay in other ways. Namely, your life.

Tabitha lifts the gun, leveling the barrel with Wheeler's head, her hands shaking slightly. "Come on, Tabitha! Just do the deed already," I say, starting to get frustrated. "This isn't hard!"

"It's murder!" Tabitha cries, lowering the gun a fraction of an inch.

I reach out and push the barrel back up, listening to Wheeler's sobs and futile pleading with pleasure. "Do it now, Tabitha. If it's so hard for you, just get it over with, since you seem to have the capability to pull the trigger."

"I can't!" cries Tabitha, the gun shaking wildly in her hands.

"Funny," I say coldly. "I don't remember your fingers being broken. You can still pull trigger, can't you?"

"Mercy, please," Tabitha whispers, turning around and dropping her arms to her side. The gun doesn't fall. "Don't make me do this. I'm not worth it. I can't kill someone!"

"Stop thinking of him as a person, Tabitha," I growl. "he's not a person. He's a criminal—"

"What, and you're not?" Tabitha spits out vehemently. She gasps and clasps her hand over her mouth, taking a step away from me.

"What. Did. You. Just. Say?" I demand, practically shaking with rage. I reach out and grab her shirt. "Say it again, I fucking dare you."

"I'm sorry, it just slipped out—!" Tabitha screams.

"It just slipped out, huh?" I snarl. "Just… _slipped out_? Is that what you think, huh? That I'm a criminal?"

"No! No, that's not what I—" Tabitha cries. I remove my grip on her shirt, and she sighs in relief. I notice that she has once more dropped the gun, and I pick it up, turning it over in my hands before shoving to Tabitha's chest.

"Do it now, and all will be forgiven," I promise, crossing my fingers behind my back. There's really no need—Tabitha knows I remember every insult she has ever dared to say, every name she has ever called me.

"Fine. Fine," Tabitha whispers, lifting the gun and placing it against Wheeler's shaking head. I see the words cross her lips, but I never actually hear speak them. _"I'm sorry." _

She pulls the trigger, firing the bullet into Wheeler's head. He keels over, dead in an instant, and Tabitha puts her hand in her mouth, biting down hard on her wrist, probably to choke back her sobs. You would think Tabitha would be used to my lifestyle by now. It's been years since her family became mine. She's more interesting than Warren, always will be, and that's why I choose to hang around her over him. Besides, she reminds me of Annabella…

Tabitha's tears are silent, and I feel a grin spread across my face. One day, when I take over the Red Lizard Gang, she _will_ be part of it. She will take the tattoo, just as I did, even if I have to torture Warren to do it.

My grin only grows when Tabitha falls to her knees, stammering about Wheeler's young daughters and the terrible life they will lead, marked as a late buyer's child.

_Warren Oto, 18_

"_Don't worry, Tabitha. I'll come back, sis. Yeah, I'm buying myself either, but this is for the best. I was the best big brother I could be, and I hope you'll live your life better than mine. Promise me you'll get out of the gang, sis. Promise you'll live the best life you can. I'll do the same, for as long as I can."_

**One Week Before the Reapings**

"Mr. Mitsui," I say, fighting to keep my voice from wavering. I know it won't matter if it wavers. Salvo will still give me some job to do all the same. It's my family's way of paying them back. He could have sent his demonic daughter or son to take my mother out after she couldn't pay up, but said demonic daughter came up with a better plan. Little by little, my family pays them back. I do pickups and drop offs, Tabitha becomes Mercy's little pet. Simple. Easy. Until Tabitha comes home in tears, stammering about being forced to murder someone and torture another late buyer and so on. It goes around and around, every week she comes home with a new story to tell. "What is the meaning of this meeting?"

Salvo, from his seat across from me, purses his lips. "Mr. Oto, if I do recall correctly, you are still Reaping eligible this year, yes?"

"…yes," I say uncertainly, gripping the arms of my chair tightly. Salvo's 'office', which is really just a room in his large home, is furnished with a dark oak desk and a swiveling chair, as well as the armchair I currently occupy. The walls are stark and barren, and it makes me wonder what the purpose of the beige coloring is. Surely Salvo has a reason behind it. He's a type of person that never does something without a reason.

"Perfect," Salvo responds. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors: my daughter, Mercy, is going to be Reaped this year."

"How can you know?" I ask before I can stop myself. It's an honest question! The Reapings haven't happened yet!

"You must be more stupid than Mercy said you were," Salvo says disdainfully. I quickly look away. I know I'm not the most intelligent person in Panem, but that doesn't make me incapable of functioning like a normal human being. "The Reaping will be rigged. Without fail, Mercy's name will be the one called next week. And to remedy this, I have decided that you will volunteer in order to protect her."

"Wh—"

"Let me stop you there," Salvo says, a slight malicious grin on his face. "What's in it for you? You volunteer, and you die, and we will halve the loan you owe. Tabitha can have it paid off in two years. You volunteer, and you live, and we let you off the hook. As long as, of course, you gave your all to protecting Mercy. Oh, and if Mercy wins, and you gave her exponential help, then your family will be off the hook forever. How about that?"

It's too simple. Salvo would never make it that easy… he would never let a customer get away without paying… "What if I don't volunteer?"

"Simple. We kill your mother, and you will never see Tabitha again." Salvo's smirk widens, as if he expects me to disagree. Only a fool would disagree. Or maybe someone who just really, really hates their family. I, however, am not a fool, and do not hate my family.

"…I'll do it. I'll volunteer," I say finally, wondering what I've just condemned myself to. "But… I do have one question. If you're so certain Mercy is going to be Reaped, why don't you make someone volunteer for her?"

For a moment, Salvo's smirk falters. "I am confident in Mercy's abilities to bring home Victory. And besides, no one needs you. Losing you and bringing Mercy home as a hero is a win-win."

I bite my lip, mulling over his words. Am I really completely useless? "But wouldn't it be easier to not run the risk of Mercy's death, at all?"

"Don't talk about what you don't understand," Salvo snaps.

"I do understand," I say defensively. "I think I understand better than you. There are clear flaws in your plan, and—"

Salvo punches his fist into his nice oak desk and growls, "You had better watch your mouth, boy. I don't think you'd like to lose another a finger…?"

I tap the fingers on my left hand against the arm of the chair. There are only four of them. The fifth, a stub that used to be my pinky, was cut off after I let that buyer get away a few months back… for my mistake, they took one finger of my choosing, and since I'm right-handed, I figured the left pinky was the one I could do without most. I know it won't happen again. "No, sir. I'd like to keep all my fingers, thanks."

"Are you sassing me?" Salvo demands, leaning over his desk toward my face.

"N-no, sir," I say quickly.

"Get out of my sight," Salvo snaps, waving me away. I quickly get to my feet and rush across the office, yanking open the door. Just as I disappear through it into the hallway, Salvo calls to me, "Remember, Oto. Volunteer, or…" He drags a finger across his throat.

I swallow thickly. "I won't forget."

"You'd better not." Salvo's cold eyes follow me until I shut the door and hurry down the hallway, wanting to get out of here as soon as humanly possible. His house gives me the creeps anyway. It's so ghostly empty that it doesn't look lived in. I don't know how people can live like that. I certainly can't.

I pass Mercy in a hallway. As I glance at her receding back, I can't help but wonder what hell I've just thrown myself into.

**A/N: Wow, look at me, updating like normal people. Anywho, these two lovely tributes are courtesy of AlexFalTon! I had a lot of fun with this one. Mercy is quite the character. Also, I added a poll on my profile for your favorite tribute introduced so far. **

**Speaking of which, what do you think of Mercy? Of Warren? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will make it further?**

**Random Question of the Day: what is your favorite tribute you've seen in someone else's SYOT?**

**My Answer: that's a hard one. I really like Tristana Rockett in Lilah32's Rapids, as well as Lennox Porter from the same one. I also love Suzuki Nox from Cjborange's Shattered. (I have a thing for District 6, apparently.)**

**I will return (hopefully) in a few days with District 7. **

**-Amanda**


	10. District 7 - Forget-Me-Not

**Chapter 9 – Forget-Me-Not**

_Vanye Taller, 15_

"_Don't be too soft; people will crush you."_

**Two Years Before the Reapings**

"Come on!" I yell up the stairs. "Mutton—no, stop that!" I race up the steps, quickly extricating Mutton's arms from Fale's armpits. "Mutton, we all know you're taller than Fale. That doesn't give you a reason to try and lift him in the air."

"But it's fun!" the eight-year-old exclaims, jumping in the air. "Vanye, Vanye, are we going to go to the market yet?"

"Yes," I say. "As soon as Valentine stops trying to pull Jake's hair out."

Mutton snorts out a laugh and watches his two friends attack each other. I run over and break up their fight, pushing them apart. "Aw, come on, Dynamite!" Valentine whines, slumping forward dramatically. "We were just playing." She whirls around to face Jake. "Right, Jake?"

"No," Jake replies. "You were pulling my hair. I don't like having my hair pulled."

"No one does," I agree, grabbing Valentine's hand. "Come on. We're going to the market today."

"Ooh, ooh, can Gracie come?" Valentine begs, pulling on my hand. She's surprisingly strong. Gracie is another girl around Valentine's age who lives in the Taller Orphanage too. She and Valentine have been best friends since Gracie started living here a couple years back.

"No, I'm taking you, Mutton, Fale and Jake," I reply, shaking my head.

"You're no fun!" Valentine exclaims sadly. I take a deep breath through my nose and remind myself that she's just a kid. She doesn't mean it. She's just unhappy that Gracie can't come with us. Not a real insult. Nothing to be mad about. Right.

Valentine and I start down the stairs, where the three boys wait at the bottom. Luckily, no one is lifting anyone into the air or pulling anyone's hair out. Good. Crisis averted.

The orphanage, which is run by my parents, has about twenty or so kids in, ranging from three months to fifteen-years-old. My parents always offer the fifteen-year-olds a place here if they want to stay, since we technically have no reason to evict them until they turn eighteen, but all six of them turned us down and left. I can never understand why. Sure, this place comes with a bit of responsibility and a lot of yelling, but hey, you get to live with me. Who wouldn't want that?

I take Jake and Valentine's hands, telling Mutton and Fale to join hands as well, and we head out onto the street.

Trees surround us as we walk, hand-in-hand, and in the distance I can hear birds singing. Two identical looking boys run past us, shouting their names at each other. They're being really loud.

Mutton whispers something to Fale, pointing to someone coming down the road toward us. I tug on Mutton's hand, looking at him oddly. "Mutton, come on," I say, getting annoyed. I pull harder on his hand, but his feet are planted firmly in the ground.

"Vanye…that's Anamos Forrester," he whispers breathlessly, his eyes wide.

I furrow my brow, and he says, "What, you don't—you don't know who Anamos Forrester is?"

"No," I say impatiently. "Come on, Mutton. We have to be back home soon."

I pull on his hand again. By now, Valentine, Fale and Jake are looking at us, wondering why we've stopped. "Anamos is mean," Mutton mumbles. "He calls us names."

Sure enough, this so-called 'Anamos Forrester' starts to approach us. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the orphans and the orphan wrangler." His voice is full of malice, and all I can think is that this has happened before. Mutton draws back, hiding behind my back, and Anamos laughs. "Aww, look at the little orphan, too scared to face me. How adorable."

"Leave him alone," I snap, feeling my anger rise. This kid can't be more than ten. He can't be much older than Mutton, or Fale, or Valentine, or Jake. But he's taller than I am. He's broader too. But size has never kept me away from justice.

"Don't think I will," Anamos says in a low voice as he steps closer to us.

I can't help it; I snap.

I throw myself at Anamos in a blaze of fists. I punch him directly in the nose, hearing a satisfying crack as blood trickles from his left nostril. I drive my shoulder into his chest, sending the boy crashing to the ground, where I continue to kick and punch him until he lays bloody on the ground.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Valentine, Jake and Fale, cowering behind Mutton who looks like he would like to cower behind someone to. Shakily, I get to my feet, reaching out toward Mutton, but he draws away from my hand, which I only now realize is slightly bloody. "Mutton—" I begin to say, feeling the anger swiftly drain from my veins. But I don't get to finish my sentence. As I take a step toward the four orphans, they scatter, each other running in a different direction.

I look around at the crowd of bystanders, all looking at this thirteen-year-old girl who just beat a boy bloody. Feeling tears suddenly well in my eyes, I push through the crowd and run off into the woods, holding my left wrist over my eyes to shield my tears from sight.

Finally I collapse against the trunk of a tree, glancing around and wondering where I've landed myself. Tears still silently leaking from my eyes, I look around at the tall trees, the canopy of leaves blocking out the sunlight and leaving me in the dark.

Good. If it's dark, no one can see me cry.

Vanye Taller doesn't just… _cry_! I'm not a crybaby. I'm not weak. I'm thirteen-years-old! I shouldn't be… be… breaking down and sobbing! I'm stronger than this.

All my thoughts do is make me sob harder.

"Are you alright?"

The voice startles me out of my sob-induced reverie. I look up and make out a boy, probably about my age, looking at me with concern evident on his face. He kneels down beside me as I sniffle, wiping my face on my sleeve. "Yes. I'm fine."

"Why are you crying?" he asks in a soft, sympathetic voice. He's… really pretty. Now that I can see his face up close… he's _hot_. "I promise I won't judge."

"It's… it's nothing," I say in the firmest voice that I can. "I'm fine. Really. I am."

His handsome features contort with confliction for a moment before he says, "I'm Ardan, by the way." He extends his hand, and I almost take it, but I pause with my hand inches away from his fingers.

"Ardan… Ardan Carvas?"

"Yes," he says, confused. He's pretty when he's confused. "Why? Do you know me? Do I know you?"

For a moment, my silence in the only thing to be heard. Finally I gain the courage to say, "I'm Vanye Taller."

"Oh," he whispers breathlessly. "Of course."

It happened years ago. Thirteen, to be exact. See, the Taller and Carvas families had been at each other's throats for years now, and this was the final straw. Their twelve-year-old daughters disappeared at the same time, and both families were absolutely certain the other's daughter had killed theirs. And then, two weeks later, little Vanye Taller comes into the world, right in the midst of all the chaos.

I'm not supposed to associate with the Carvas family. But… I suppose this will be one secret I'll manage to keep. I slowly get to my feet and take his hand. "Doesn't matter to me, though." I smile, letting go of his hand and wiping my tears a second time as Ardan smiles as well. What's the fun of having friends if everyone knows about it?

_Monk Redwood, 15_

"_I have no past, so what's my future?"_

**Two Weeks Before the Reapings**

_A loud _thunk _sounds through the room as my body hits the floor, but I don't bother to get up. I will just end up back on the ground. Wallowing in a pool of my own blood as… the man, whose name I can never remember, kicks me and hits me whenever he gets bored. I'm sure he has a name, but my memory has never been the best… _

_Suddenly the picture of me lying on the floor, surrounded by red morphs into something else. Everything is mostly black, things flinging in and out of focus as I turn my head side to side, trying to see what's going on and figure out where I am and why I am and who I am. Answers should be there! Answers are… answers are always there…_

_Another loud noise. Another scream of pain. More red. More cuts. More bruises. More of the same old routine… _

_Black finally wafts into my vision, but once it overtakes my view of the old house, another scene takes it place, the only sound filling my ears is my screams of utter agony as something hits my head once, twice, three times before finally, thankfully, everything goes black. _

I wake up a pool of cold sweat, it feeling far too much like the blood that surrounded me in my dream. No, memory. It's always a memory. A memory of time before the Community Home, before the silent wails of starving children, before Monk Redwood even had a name, when I was just a silent boy who lived in my memories, never truly existing…

That's a question I've asked myself many times. Did I exist before I woke up in 7's hospital with no recollection of my past life? Or did I simply pop into existence one day on the side of the road, as a ten-year-old boy covered in scars and cuts and bruises? Why did no one ever come for me? Who is the man in my memories?

No one here has as many questions to ask as I do. Many of them wonder where their parents went, maybe if their siblings as okay. All of them are someone. Because even if I have a name, and a face, that's a lot different from having an identity. I'm just the kid who sits in the back of the room, never noticed unless he's trying to sleep and starts screaming.

"Matron Bellamy!" one my roommates yells. "Monk's having a freak out again!"

I sigh, wondering what time of night it is. Judging by the moonlight just barely visible through our tiny window, it has to be late. And nighttime is the only time the Community Home is ever quiet. There's always someone screaming, crying, and/or vomiting. Sometimes a combination of all three. But when everyone goes to sleep, things calm down a lot. Until, of course, I came waltzing in with no memory and nightly freak outs, waking everybody from their peaceful, nice, relaxing slumber with ramblings of memories no one can confirm ever happened.

Matron Bellamy, the head matron of the Community Home, bangs open our door, probably waking up everyone in the Home who somehow managed to sleep through my terrified howling, and instead of offering kind words like a nice person might, she simply glares at my roommate. "Amir," she snaps. "It's 1:47 a.m. Someone here needs to get sleep."

"Yeah, but Monk was—"

"I don't care what Monk was doing," Bellamy says sharply, staring Amir down. "We have established that he can survive this without someone patting his back and telling him it will be alright. Now, I better not hear a peep from any of you for the rest of night, or else there'll be hell to pay." She scowls at each other us individually, pausing for a few moments longer on my face. "Monk. I will speak to you in the morning."

With that, she slams the door shut. Her angry stomps are audible from even in here.

Sometimes, I wonder if living here is worse than living wherever I used to.

At least back then I lived in such a haze of pain that nothing ever phased me. Now? Now, I have to be aware of everything that happens around me. No drifting off into the peacefulness of sleep whenever something I don't care about happens. Sleep is only allowed at night. The Community Home needs all hands on deck, blah blah blah. Everybody has to work in order for this place to be a well-oiled machine.

No one ever accused it of being that way, and I'm certainly not going to be the first.

I lay back against my pillows and catch Amir staring at me in the dim light. Quickly, I roll over so he can stare at my back. I don't want to look at him, knowing I woke him up and drew all this unwanted attention to myself and that everything is my fault and I can never escape my past and it will haunt me wherever I go and it's all my fault because I'm such a failure that not even the Community Home wants me—

After nightmare-memories like tonight, I don't even bother going back to sleep. It's not like I'm going to manage to anyway. I never sleep for longer than a few hours anymore. Everyone else basically sees my nightmares as akin to a baby's cries. It happens, without fail, every night. But instead of being comforted, people just glare at me the next morning. But I deserve it. I don't deserve to be comforted. I deserve to be brushed under the rug and ignored. I don't matter, in the grand scheme of things. I never have, and I never will.

Sometimes, I almost wish I _could_ go back. I wish I could back to when I never had to do anything. Where I just laid on the floor in a pool of my own blood, listening as the man rages in the background and beats me when he's bored. Is that really too much to ask?

**A/N: Anyway catch a reference to a (now deceased) tribute from TYAU in Vanye's part? It's hardly in there, but I just kind of felt like adding it in for no reason. Who doesn't want more heartache?**

**What do you think of Vanye? Of Monk? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer? If you submitted either, how'd I do?**

**Random Question of the Day: what is the most useless sponsor gift you could be given in the Games?**

**My answer: a nerf gun, maybe. At least it would be funny. **

**Please review, **

**Amanda**


	11. District 8 - Paranoia

**Chapter 10 – Paranoia**

_Fulmina Athnan, 17_

"_You haven't seen anything yet!"_

**Eight Years Before the Reapings**

"Fulmina, honey, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Mm-hm," I say, not really paying any attention. Mom says something else that I don't catch. I reach for another colored pencil, dropping the red one and grabbing the green. I'm not really focusing on it either. I guess when you have everything you could want, it's hard to focus on so trivial.

"Fulmina, please come in here."

Dejectedly, I get to my feet, dropping the colored pencils onto the kitchen counter. As I walk into the living room, I find myself wondering what this is all about. _Maybe she'll finally tell me what happened to Father._ But I know that the likelihood of that happening is completely improbable. Something happened to my dad. A long time ago, very shortly after I was born. I've assumed it's something traumatic, since Mom refuses to talk about it…and I doubt this time will be any different. It never is.

I walk quietly into the living room, seeing Mom sitting on the couch and staring off into space. I nervously take a seat beside her, glancing at her face with those haunted eyes of hers. I'm sure they used to be very pretty—probably what made the Capitol fall in love with her in the first place—but I've only known them as tortured pits of despair on my mother's face.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Fulmina," my mother says, and I relax. Mom has never been one for storytelling, but I'll take that over whatever I thought she might start talking about. "Once upon a time, during the 123rd Hunger Games, a fourteen-year-old girl got Reaped from District 8."

I swallow thickly. This isn't a story. Not a fictional one, anyway.

"She had already lost her older brothers to the Games. But this girl was angry. She _knew_ why she, and her brothers had been reaped. Her parents hated the Capitol and never tried to hide that hate, and this was the Capitol's only way of reining them in—"

"I know it's you that you're talking about, Mom," I mumble. "You don't have pretend this is fictional."

"Fine, yes, it was me. Anyways, I went into the Games at fourteen-years-old with anger in my veins. I wanted to show the Capitol that they forced me to be here, and I was going to get out. I was going to make it out no matter what I had to do and you know what? I did. The Head Gamemaker was executed because of it, but I made it out. I lived."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I know that, Mom. I wouldn't exist if you hadn't made it out."

I can tell very easily that's she forcing the smile she gives me.

"But, of course, the Capitol wasn't happy. I wasn't supposed to make it out. I was _supposed_ to die," Mom continues, once more staring off into space. "I know they wanted to—to punish me."

I cock my head to the side like a confused dog. What is she trying to insinuate? What kind of punishment could they have?

"Fulmina," Mom suddenly blurts out. "have you ever heard the story of District 8's first Victor?"

"Yeah, of course I have," I say immediately. "they tell it all the time in school, and we watch that Games religiously."

"And you know about _Alex_ Lysander, yes?"

"Yes," I say, trying to figure out where she's going with this. "Aline's brother."

"See, Fulmina, the Capitol likes to rig the Reapings. They did it to my brothers and I, trying to get my parents to shut up. It was the only option, short of executing them, and making them watch their children fall, one by one, would be a fate worse than death." Mom's head turns to look at me, locking her haunted eyes with mine. I hate those eyes. "Alex Lysander was rigged into the Games because Aline had won. The Capitol loves to watch relatives of Victors go into the Games."

I finally realize where she's going with this. She thinks _I_ might be rigged into the Games, like so many people before us. Of course. "What can we do about it?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about," Mom says. "One day, you very well may be rigged into the Games. If that happens, you need to be prepared, right?"

"Right," I say. "…but training outside the Games is illegal."

"Fulmina," Mom says sharply. "has that ever stopped District 1? Or 2? 4? Hell, even 7 has an Academy."

"That's true," I mumble. "Can we get away with it?"

"They can't execute a Victor, Fulmina. Not unless I commit _real_ treason against the Capitol." Mom's smile still is forced. It doesn't take a genius to see that she's not sure about that. But we have more money than we know what to do with. Surely we can just bride anyone who comes calling about it.

I take a deep breath. "This is the only way?"

"Yes, Fulmina. But it's just a precaution. Maybe you won't even be Reaped. We won't know until it happens." Mom takes my hands, still looking at me with her tortured eyes. An endless abyss of despair and darkness that holds so many horrors.

Horrors I may encounter if _I_ ever get Reaped. "Better safe than sorry." My voice is barely audible as I say it, but I know that it's true. One day, I probably will go into the Games. And I need to be prepared to face it head on when it comes.

_Carter Sykes, 18_

"_To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."_

**Two Months Before the Reapings**

"Hey, Aryanna!" I yell as I enter the abandoned warehouse. It's a pretty small place, nothing special, but it's what Aryanna and I call our hideout. "Are you here?"

"Carter, hi," Aryanna says, emerging from behind a stack of old boxes. "You're early."

I shrug. "It's a Sunday. My work doesn't start for another two hours. I've got time."

Aryanna laughs, a nice singsong sound. "Really should have figured that out by now."

"Yeah, probably," I say, but I don't really mean it. Aryanna is the daughter of the mayor. The o-holy-Mayor of District 8, meaning Aryanna has never worried about money or having jobs. She has everything she could ask for, even though she loves it when I offer her outfits. She pays well—she's one of the only reasons my mother and I stay afloat.

See, Aryanna has always a bit…paranoid. After a girl she knew got Reaped a few years back, she decided that she needed to train so in the eventuality that she got Reaped, she wouldn't die. I eventually got roped into it as well, and when I was younger, I threw myself into it, but now? Now, I'm on my last year of eligibility. And last year we weren't even at risk at all.

"How have you been in the past couple of days?" I ask Aryanna as I follow her through the winding maze of boxes. She knows her way around here much better than I do, even though I have been come here with her since I was seven. "I'm sorry that I haven't been by your house, but—"

"Oh, come on, Carter," Aryanna says, rolling her eyes. "You know I can get along on my own—or, you know, as _on my own_ as I can get."

I laugh as we reach our little training area. It's nothing much. Just a couple of haphazard targets and some ripped up dummies I've sewed together too many times to count. We have a couple of knives, and some old plastic swords Aryanna asked her father for years ago. They're made for small children, and definitely aren't anything like _real_ swords, but hey, it's the best we can do.

"Are you getting worried yet?" Aryanna asks quietly as she picks up a knife. "You know, about the Reapings?"

"We've still got two whole months, Ari," I say, punctuating my sentence with a laugh. "And besides, we're going to be fine. We haven't been Reaped yet."

"Easy for you to say," Aryanna says dejectedly. "I've still got three Reapings to go before I don't have to worry about it anymore."

"Aw, Ari," I say after a moment. "It's going to be fine. You're going to be fine, I'm going to be fine, everything's going to be fine."

"Except for whoever is _actually_ Reaped," Aryanna says, angrily throwing the knife at the decimated target. It lands fairly close to center. "Ugh! We've been doing this for so long, and I'm still terrible at it! If I get Reaped, I'm so dead!"

"Hey, hey, Ari, it's going to be okay," I say assuringly, putting my hands on Aryanna's shoulders. "You're not going to be Reaped. And even if you were—which is _not_ going to happen—you wouldn't be dead! You've been training for years, even if it's a little informal, which already puts you ahead of at least seventy percent of the competition!"

"But I'd never hold my own against a Career," Aryanna says. "Or someone like Fulmina Athnan. She'd kill me before I'd ever even see her! Have you seen that girl with a bow?"

"Hey, come on. You'd never even be in the same arena as Fulmina Athnan!" I exclaim. "Everything is going to be okay, Ari. I promise. And I never break my promises."

She glances up at me. "But this is one promise you can't necessarily keep."

…

"Hey, Mom, I'm home!" I call as I open the door to our little shop, _Sykes Seamstress and Tailor_. Everything you need to know about the place is in the name. It's our little two-story place, the bottom level being the store, and the top level being where we live and work.

"Hi, Carter. How was Aryanna today?" Mom asks, sitting in the back of shop at one of our old, clunky sewing machines.

"She was good," I say. "Would you believe she has already started worrying about the Reapings?"

"Oh, come now, Carter," Mom says, teasing reproach in her voice as her skilled hands run over the fabric, a small smile on her face. "You know how Aryanna is."

"Yeah, but she's worrying early this time around," I reply, taking a seat at our other sewing machine. "Maybe it's just because we didn't _have_ to worry last year." I swallow hard, not wanting to think of last year. Aryanna's approach was that it was better them than her, especially someone like Avia Kasiani, but still…they were kids. All of them, so young.

Mom purses her lips for a moment before going back to her sewing. "You had better get to work there, Carter. Say, did Aryanna ask for any more designs?"

Aryanna loves the clothes we make. And no matter how many times we've told her she doesn't have to pay us, she always gives us more than we ask for. Maybe it's because she has so much money and not enough places to throw it. But I like to think it's just because she's a generous person. "Nope, not today. She was too focused on the Reapings and her fear of them to ask for a new outfit."

Mom nods slowly. "We've got a new order from that one man—you know, the guy from the Capitol?"

"Great!" I exclaim. "Where is it? I'll get started on it right now!"

Mom shakes her head a little, laughing softly. "It's upstairs on the counter. It's quite extravagant—but most of his orders are, aren't they?"

I laugh as I run up the stairs. I'm sure everything will be fine. Who knows, Mom and I could get a big break in the Capitol and start designing clothes for all of them! Then Aryanna wouldn't have to pay us more than we deserve for our services. Nothing could go wrong now. This is my last year of eligibility, and I've never taken Tesserae. My life in on track, and there's nothing that could knock it off its path.

**A/N: Many paranoid characters in this chapter XD. **

**Anyways, what do you think of Fulmina? Of Carter? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer? **

**Only four more Reapings to go! We're on the homestretch! My suffering is almost over!**

**Random Question of the Chapter: What would be the **_**best**_** sponsor gift to get?**

**My answer: I guess it depends on the situation, but maybe a machine gun or something like that. With endless bullets. Yeah, that would probably be the best. **

**Please, please, review!**

**-Amanda**


	12. District 9 - Who I'm Meant To Be

**Chapter 11 – Who I'm Meant To Be**

_Flourish Jemsly, 17_

"_Try different things, you could learn your special talent."_

**Five Years Before the Reapings**

I've always known I wasn't supposed to be a boy.

My whole life, I've known. And if I know at the age of twelve, and have known for years now, I'm pretty sure I'm not just being dramatic. I've never had the courage to tell anyone, not even my best friend or my family, but…that changes today.

I'm going to convince my parents to let me change. And there shouldn't be fear in trying to become what I'm supposed to be. But I know some very transphobic people—and you would think, that by now, no one would care, but no, people really are stupid—but I'm going to do it. I'm going to tell my parents. I'm going to become a girl. I'm going to be _happy_. Maybe people will leave me alone. After all, it's impolite for boys to hurt girls.

"Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you," I say in a slightly wavery voice, clasping my hands behind my back in an attempt to look professional.

"What is it, Flouran?" Father says, not looking up from his newspaper.

"Dad," I say, trying to be firm. "I need your attention. Please."

Mom reaches over and touches Dad's arm, finally making him look up and put down his paper.

I take a deep breath, my eyes jumping back and forth between my parents' faces. Finally I exhale and say, "I…I want to become a girl." My voice is barely audible.

"What? Speak up, Flouran!" Father scolds. I can't tell if he just doesn't want to believe what I said, or actually couldn't hear me. I fear it's the former.

"I want to become a girl!" I cry right in his face. "I hate being a boy. I'm not supposed to be a boy! Can't you tell? Haven't you figured it out yet? It's so glaringly obvious, and I hate it! It's not me."

"Flouran," Father growls. "Are you sick? There must be something wrong with you. You've never expressed this problem before—"

"Yes, I have!" I exclaim. "You just never listen. I've told you so many times, and you never listen to me!"

"That's enough, Flouran," Father cuts over top of my words, forcing me to shut up. "You don't know what you want. You are a _boy_, Flouran, and nothing can change that. You will always be my son, and no matter what you say will ever change that fact—"

"Well, maybe I don't want to be your son!" I yell, balling my hands into fists. "Maybe the biggest reason that I hate being a boy is because of you! Maybe it's because you've ruined it all, made me hate what I am, made me know that this is wrong, that this isn't right!"

I desperately turn to Mom, taking her hands and feeling tears well in my eyes. "Please, Mom. Don't you believe me?"

Mom swallows hard, glancing at Father out of the corner of her eye. "I'll support you no matter what, Flouran."

"See!?" I shout to Father, pointing to Mom. "See? She gets it! She doesn't care about our reputation! She just wants me to be happy! She actually cares about me!" I sniffle a little, looking down for a fraction of a second. "Maybe if you really cared about me, you wouldn't freak out about it. If you really loved me at all, you'd support me, and let me change if I have to, if I want to—no, if I _need_ to."

Father glares, his nostrils flaring with anger. I take a step back. "Men don't cry, Flouran."

I'm about to retort with another fiery remark when the back door bangs open and in walks my older brothers, Wheatro and Doughery. "Hey, Dad, what's going on in here? We heard yelling," Doughery says in a nonchalant voice, clearly having no clue what they just walked in on.

"Your younger brother here wants to become a _girl_," Father sneers. I take another step back, praying that Wheatro and Doughery will stand with me, support me like Mom will.

"A girl?" Wheatro repeats, sounding disgusted. My heart drops to my stomach, and for a moment I look at my shoes. So much for supportive brothers. "Why would anyone want to be a girl? _Especially_ you, Flouran."

"That may be the dumbest thing to have ever come out of Flouran's mouth!" Doughery agrees, laughing. "I'm sure he's not serious, Dad. You know how Flouran is, always cracking jokes." I can hear the edge of nervousness in his voice, and can practically hear his thoughts as well. _I can't have a transgender sister! That will make me seem so weak! _

"It's not a joke!" I scream, effectively shutting everyone up. "It's not a goddamn joke. Why can't you just support me? Why did I ever _think_ any of you would support me? Of course, you can't support me, because if you have a sister or a daughter, imagine how _weak_ that would make you look? Boo-hoo, poor you, now people might _look_ at you weird! However will you survive?"

Father opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. "Oh, no, I'm not done yet. How do you think it will look if your son or brother despises you because you refuse to accept her for who she is? Maybe you should all take your thumbs out of your asses and just shut up."

With that, I turn around and run up the stairs, dashing into my bedroom and slamming my door so hard a book falls off my shelf. I throw myself onto my bed, finally letting the tears fall from my eyes. Why can't they just accept me? Why couldn't I have just been born as a girl? Then none of this would be a problem. I would be perfectly happy, and wouldn't to worry about any of this.

It was so stupid, so naïve, to hope that Father won't put up a fight. Of course he can't have one of his strong little boys becoming a weak, sniveling girl, now can he? How dare I insinuate something so outlandish, so ridiculous, so absolutely horrifying?

A knock at my door makes me jump. "Go away," I groan. This has been the worst night of my life, and surely it's Father, just coming back so he can have the last word.

"It's just me," Mom's voice says from the other side of the door.

"Oh," I breathe. "Come in, then."

Mom slowly opens the door and enters my small room, making sure the door is shut behind her. "I meant what I said, Flouran. I'll support you, no matter what anyone else says."

I sit up and say, "Thanks, Mom. But I don't know if there's anything we can do, not with Father still in the picture."

"We can go behind his back and have it done, Flouran," Mom says reassuringly, taking a seat beside me on the mattress. "I'm not afraid to get my hands a little dirty, if it will make you happy."

"It will make me happy," I say in a slightly breathless voice. I look up at her and add, "So we really can get it done? I can become a girl?"

"Of course, Flouran—oh, I suppose if you're going to be a girl, we can't be calling you Flouran anymore, can we?" Mom says with a small laugh.

"No, we can't," I say, feeling a little excited at the prospect of finally, finally getting to be what I want to be. "I already know what I want to be called, so don't worry about that."

"Oh, and what will you be called?" Mom asks in a soft voice.

"Flourish," I say proudly. "It sounds kind of like Flouran, but it's not Flouran. Do you like it?"

"I love it, honey," Mom says cheerily. "It fits you perfectly."

Mom hugs me tightly, and stands up to leave. As she crosses my room, I call out to her, "Hey, Mom?"

"Yes, Flourish?" says Mom, pausing.

"Thanks for supporting me," I say sincerely. "And thanks for not letting Father get in our way."

Mom smiles. "Of course, honey. Anything to make you happy."

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Flourish."

She shuts the door behind her, leaving me feeling so happy to be called what I want to be called, and to soon be what I want to be.

_Rylan Darlux, 16_

"_It's the ones people overlook who are the most special."_

**Eleven Years Before the Reapings**

"Dare! Give it back!"

"No! You left it out, now it's mine!"

"Saoirse, Dare, stop!" I yell as my triplet siblings bowl me over. "Dare, stop taking Saoirse's stuff! Don't you know that this always happens when you do?" I carefully untangle myself from my siblings' limbs as Saoirse gets to feet, dusting off herself off. Dare remains on the ground, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. I roll my eyes and take a seat on the couch.

Dare grumbles something unintelligible, but reluctantly hands the teddy bear back to Saoirse. "She wasn't using it anyways," he adds, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Yes I was!" Saoirse says defensively. "You just weren't paying any attention!"

"I was too!" Dare cries. "I paid plenty of attention! You just didn't notice!"

"Guys, stop!" I exclaim. "Can't you tell that this argument is never going to end?"

Saoirse plops down on the couch beside me, cradling her teddy bear to her chest. "But it's _Dare_, Rylan. He just keeps taking my stuff!"

Suddenly the front door bangs open, making all three of us jump. I glance at Saoirse and Dare as our father stumbles into our small house, mumbling slurred words under his breath. A foul smell surrounds him, which I can smell from across the room. Dare grabs Saoirse and I quickly pulls the three of us behind the couch.

"Dare!" Saoirse whisper-shouts. "What are you doing?"

"Shh!" Dare says, clamping a hand over Saoirse's mouth. I give him an odd look. "Can't you tell? Dad's drunk!"

I swallow thickly. "You really think so?"

"Yeah, he smells drunk," Dare whispers. "He might hurt us."

"Dare is right," I murmur to Saoirse. "Drunk is dangerous." I glance around for a moment. "Quick—let's run upstairs. We can climb out the window in our room and then onto the roof. We can slide down onto the porch and make a run for it."

"Let's do it," Dare agrees, grabbing Saoirse's hand. "Go on, Saoirse. Go first. We'll follow you."

"Okay," Saoirse says nervously.

"Where are you fucking idiot kids?" Dad yells, staggering around the kitchen. "When I find you…"

Saoirse squeaks in fear. "I can't!" she says, clutching her teddy bear to her chest. She looks at me, and I can see the fear in her eyes.

"Go! Now!" I exclaim. After a moment of hesitation, Saoirse dashes out from behind the couch, slinking silently against the wall until she reaches the stairs. She sprints up them with light, sure steps until she disappears on the landing. "Okay, Dare. Your turn."

"No, Rylan, you go first," Dare says, trying to push me forward. "I'll bring up the rear; don't worry."

"Dare, it's my plan. If it falls through, I should be the one who takes the fallout," I say, pushing my brother forward. "Go!"

Dad hiccups loudly as Dare charges up the stairs, groaning and yelling and shouting slurred words. I bite my lip, waiting until Dare has disappeared from view.

"I'm gonna find you…you useless kids!" I swallow hard. It's now or never. I peek over the back of the couch, watching for Dad. Once he turns his back, I get to my feet, making a run for the stairs. "Hey, there you are!"

"No!" I exclaim, grabbing onto the railing by the stairs. Dad pries me off, pinning me against the wall by my throat. I can't breathe! I can't breathe! "Let—me—go—" I choke out, thrashing in his grip as alarm bells blare through my head. I pummel him with my fists and feet, desperately trying to get out of his grip.

Finally he lets go, dropping me to the ground. I slide down the wall, sitting dazed and starting off into space. Dad storms away into the kitchen, and I can hear bottles clinking together. After a few moments, I stagger to my feet, using the wall to keep me standing. I quickly stumble up the stairs, finding Saoirse and Dare creeping around the corner. "Rylan! You're okay!" Saoirse exclaims, throwing her arms around my shoulders. "We were really worried…I thought you were dead!"

"I'm okay," I assure them, clearing my aching throat. "Now come on, let's get out of here." I pull my siblings toward our bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind us as something hits the wall downstairs. I cringe, yanking open our window and ushering Saoirse out onto the roof as the sound of something hitting the hall again echoes through the house. "Go, go!"

Dare goes next, and I quickly follow, shutting the window behind us. I slowly inch my way down the haphazard shingles toward edge, easily dropping off to the ground once I reach it. Dare helps Saoirse down, and appears a few moments later. I glance at him, and he nods in solidarity. We hurriedly hop the fence, and take off running down the street.

…

It becomes a routine. We're lucky to get through a week without Dad bursting in and trying to attack us, throwing things and blaming us for all of his problems. But we're the only remaining reminder of his beloved wife, and so he uses us as punching bags, but lets us live.

Of course, we would have died long before now if Dare and I hadn't started stealing. Dad doesn't like to feed us, so we learned to feed ourselves, to steal our own money since our father clearly wasn't going to give us any. We weren't going to let ourselves starve to death just because our father blames us for everything bad that has happened to him.

The routine changes more as we get older. We stay in our room more. We don't spend as much time at home. We avoid our father like the plague. There are rarely any problems, and Dad really has to work to catch one of us now. Things change. _We_ change. We grow up. Learn to stop depending on people like our father. We learn how to survive, and we do a hell of a good job of it.

**A/N: So the little bit at the end of Rylan's POV was just randomly added in there because I wanted to clear up a couple of things, and had written way more for Flourish than for him. Don't ask me at what point in his life it takes place. Some time after his flashback, obviously. But there were different things I just wanted to get in there that I couldn't in his flashback. **

**What do you think of Flourish? Of Rylan? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer?**

**Since I've been noticing a… drought in reviews, I've decided to do a Reader Check-In. So if you're reading, shoot me a PM and tell me what your tribute's (or one of them, if you have more than one) favorite color is. **

**Random Question of the Chapter: What is **_**your**_** favorite color? **

**My answer: anywhere on the purple-to-blue-to-green spectrum. Turquoise, teal, midnight blue, galaxy purple…I'll really take any of it. **

**Anyway, I'm going to put some focus on TATHISR for a bit, so it might be a little while before District 10. **

**-Amanda**


	13. District 10 - Blind To My Suffering

**Still missing check-ins for:**

**Fragrance **

**Guadalupe**

**Achilles**

**Delta**

**Warren**

**Mercy**

**Shawn**

**Yama**

**Daniel**

**Chapter 12 – Blind To My Suffering**

**TW for suicide in Shawn's POV.**

_Shawn Hamilton, 16_

"_I bullied my sister into suicide…pretty sure I'm the worst person you've ever met."_

**One Week Before the Reapings**

"And it was the biggest squirrel I had ever seen!" Betty exclaims, a grin on her face as she talks animatedly with her hands. "It was eating away at my pumpkins, so I grabbed a broom and hit it over the head."

I smile, but it does not reach my eyes. It never reaches it my eyes anymore.

"But all that did was make it angry!" Betty continues, sounding as anguished as I imagine she was during the vicious squirrel attack. "It started to claw at my legs!" She bends down and pulls up her pant leg, showing off the healing red marks from the angry squirrel.

Fighting to force a laugh past my lips, I say, "Crazy. That squirrel, I mean."

Betty laughs, a real, genuine giggle that does nothing to raise my spirits. "Yeah, it was pretty crazy, wasn't it? I was afraid it might have had rabies—but nope, we're in the all clear."

I let out a sigh. "Good." I look down at my shoes as I force the smile to remain on my face.

"Oh, here's my house," Betty says. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes," I say quickly. Betty turns and starts up the path to her house. The moment her back turns away from me, the fake smile drops from my face and I let a sigh escape my mouth. Dejectedly I continue walking down the road in silence, looking down at my feet as I wonder what awaits me at home. Or, _who_ awaits me at home.

Sometimes I wish this road would go on forever. I could just keep walking and walking until I collapsed from exhaustion and eventually starved to death. It would probably make things much easier on everyone else. Even Betty surely does not care _that_ much.

But as always, the road ends. I turn up the walk toward my house, dreading who may be waiting inside. But it will never change. It is the same old routine. Same old, same old.

I quietly open the front door and enter the house. Silence envelops me as I soon as I shut the door. Dad is at work. Mom is probably tending the garden or something of the sort. Ingrid is likely in her room. And Panem only knows where is Carl is at. Somewhere laying in wait for me to come home, I would assume.

With the enthusiasm of a corpse, I head down the hall toward Ingrid's room and of course, my own. A place of solace that Carl has a tendency to stay away from.

But as I pass Ingrid's room, something catches my eye inside. The door is left just barely ajar, enough for me to get a glimpse inside, and what I see is not good.

Ingrid hangs from the ceiling with a rope around her neck, a stool kicked away from underneath her feet. Her skin is pale and likely cold, her entire body unmoving. Not a breath to be taken, not a pulse to be found. In other words, deader than a doornail.

I push the door further open and take a step into the room. It even _smells_ like death in here. That is when I spot the piece of paper lying on her bed with hastily scrawled writing on it. I swallow hard and pick it up.

_Dear Mom, Dad and Carl, _

_You have to understand why I did this. I will not apologize—and especially not to Shawn. It's all Shawn's fault. Maybe I should be mad at all of you, for being completely blind to my suffering and Shawn's near-constant abuse, but even as I write this, I feel that it isn't your fault. It's Shawn's. It's always Shawn's._

_She insulted me, brought out every insecurity I had. She took pictures of me and showed them to everyone at school. She made my life living hell, and you were all blind to it. _

_So this is my letter. My final goodbye. The last any of you will ever hear from me. And if these are the last words I ever say or write, I want it to be known. _

_It. Is. Shawn's. Fault. _

_You can blame her for my death. You can blame her for this suicide, for she is the reasoning I can't keep living anymore. I can't continue to suffer while the rest of Panem remains blissfully ignorant to my problems. _

_Love, _

_Ingrid_

I angrily crumple the paper in my hands. She cannot blame me. If she wants to stick blame on anyone, she should stick it on Carl. It is all Carl's fault.

Ingrid and I are—were—one in the same. We both suffer because of Carl.

"Shawn!" The voice startles me so much that I jump. "Ingrid!"

Carl rushes into the room, pushing me aside in his haste to reach Ingrid. He quickly checks her for a pulse, then rounds on me. "What the fuck, Shawn!? What did you do to her?!"

"What did _I_ do!?" I shout angrily. "What did _you_ do? It's your fault that things are like this—!"

Carl rips the crumpled paper from my hands, quickly scanning the words. He furiously shoves it back in my face. "I knew you couldn't make friends, I didn't know you couldn't goddamn read!"

I take a step backward, only to bump up against the wall. "Ingrid is wrong and you know it—"

"Stop talking over top of me!" Carl shouts. "Look at this letter, bitch. What does it say, hmm?"

In response to my silence, he repeats, "Hmm? What does it say, slut?" He pushes the letter back in my face, making the words blur before my eyes. "I guess you really can't read. It says, "It. Is. Shawn's. Fault." I think that's clear as day, what do you think, huh? Huh?"

"It's—it's Ingrid's mistake," I say in the firmest voice that I can muster. "Ingrid does not see the whole picture—much like you, apparently."

"Oh, you little degenerate, idiotic asshole—" Carl begins to growl, but is cut off as the door bangs open and Mother enters the room.

"What's going on in here—oh my god!" she screams as she spots Ingrid's corpse hanging from the ceiling. Blissfully ignorant to Carl's threats, to Carl's insults. As fucking always. "Ingrid! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Ingrid—no!" Tears begin to pour down her cheeks as she cups Ingrid's cold face in her hands. "No, my baby girl…"

Carl slowly hands her the crumpled up letter, and her sobs only grow worse the longer she reads. Finally her arms drop to her sides and she looks up at me. "Shawn. Explain."

I stare down at my feet. "It's not what it looks like."

"Oh, really?" Carl demands with a hint of anger in his remorseful voice. "Because it looks like you bullied Ingrid until she went suicide."

_You know what it is. You know _exactly _what it is. But it is so much easier to just throw _me_ under the truck instead of degrading your own name, is it not? You are just as selfish as I am—you just will not own up to your own mistakes. _

"Shawn, give us an explanation for Ingrid's letter," Mother demands, all hints of sadness momentarily gone from her voice. "And it has better be a good one."

"I have nothing to say to you," I say seriously, hastily pushing past both her and Carl and running through the house. I have to get out of here. I do not care where I go. I just have to get away. Get away from Carl. Get away from Mother. Get away from Father. Get away from Ingrid's cold, pale corpse and all the guilt that comes with it.

I just keep running. I run out of the house. I run down the street. I run and I run and I run and I run, but my problems will always catch up with me.

_Joaquin Murrieta, 16_

"_What's in it for me?"_

**One Year Before the Reapings**

Fifteen years of not knowing. Of being in the dark, wondering where Sonja and I came from. I've spent fifteen years of my life wasting away in the Community Home with nothing but my sister by my side, and frankly, I'm tired of people dancing around the subject of our birth.

It's not like we just popped into existence one day. We had to come from _somewhere_, and it's clear that the matrons know. I doubt it's anything too terribly traumatic, since it had to happen whilst someone was giving birth, but I suppose we are not the first. The matrons just don't like to talk about these sorts of things, and it's infuriating.

I don't want to die not knowing—and I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to die young, probably being executed or whipped to death after stealing something I shouldn't have even touched—and since my demise could literally come any day now, I need to know. I've waited fifteen years, Goddammit, I need answers.

Sonja has never understood the obsession. It's an obsession that shouldn't be an obsession, but at least I know I won't have these problems once I know. _If_ I know, I should be saying, since the world seems adamant that I should live my entire life without the knowledge that I desire.

"If I were you," Sonja says as we enter the dining hall one gloomy April morning. "I would have given up long before now. They'll tell us when they want to tell us."

"With our luck, that will be never," I mutter bitterly. Sonja glares at me.

"Be grateful that we're even alive, Joaquin." Sonja shakes her head and power walks over to the food line. It's practically a mile long, and the likelihood that there will be any food left when we get to the front is slim to none. But Sonja has always been the more optimistic twin. "Come on. Maybe if you ask enough people while we stand in line, you'll get what you want."

"Yeah, right," I snark, rolling my eyes. "because after fifteen years, we're just going to stumble upon the one person in this entire hellhole that feels like telling us where we came from. As if."

"Have a little optimism, for a change," Sonja says seriously. "Might do you some good. And maybe we will. Any day now, we could stumble across someone who was there—"

"The oldest kids here are eighteen, Sonja," I huff. "No one would keep a three-year-old child around while a woman gives birth." I roll my eyes once more. "And, furthermore, do you really think there's still someone here who saw it? It's been fifteen years, Sonja—surely we've asked everybody here, three times over by now."

"You never know," says Sonja with a shrug. "Maybe today we'll get lucky."

"We've never been lucky once in our lives, Sonja," I say bitterly. "Not once."

"Whatever."

We reach the front of the food line a few minutes later—much quicker than usual. The matron behind the counter tells us that they're out for the day. As per usual. This place is full to overflowing with kids, more coming in each day. They stopped counting the population around sixty years before Sonja and I even existed in our foggy origins.

I follow Sonja back out of the dining hall and down the mostly empty corridor. A small group of boys, all probably eighteen, are congregated in a small alcove, seemingly exchanging stories.

"And so this lady stumbles in, in labor and about to give birth and—"

"What are you talking about?" Sonja interrupts. One of the boys glares at her, but the one who was telling the story replies in a fairly kind voice.

"The story of some pair of twins' birth." He smiles at us. Sonja smiles back, but all I do is glare.

"What pair of twins?" Sonja asks hopefully. I roll my eyes. As if.

"I don't remember their names—but I think one 'em might have started with an _S_? And the other was pronounced really weird—"

"Sonja and Joaquin?" asks Sonja.

"Ha, yeah, right," I mutter. Sonja throws a glare my way, but the hope on her face is apparent. I can't believe she still holds out hope and optimism about things. One would think after all the curve balls life has thrown into our faces, she'd have stopped hoping long before now. "Because we're just randomly going to find the _one_ kid who _happens _to know the story of our birth, even after asking people about it for fifteen years—"

"Yeah, I think that was their names!" the boy exclaims. "Why? You know 'em?"

"We are them!" Sonja says excitedly. She grabs my arm tightly. "Did you here that, Joaquin? Today really is our lucky day!"

I swallow before I speak again. "Are you _sure_ that's what the twins were called?" I ask uncertainly. "Because I don't want to get my hopes up just to have them shattered again."

"Yep, I'm like, ninety-nine-point-nine-percent sure of it, kid." The boy smiles again. "Why's it matter, anyway?"

"We want to know the story!" Sonja all but yells. "We've never heard it but we really want to and you know it so can you tell us? Please?"

"Yeah, of course," the boy says amicably. "Here's the story: your mom—I don't think anyone else got her name—stumbled in late at night, just about to give birth. She gave birth within the hour to a pair of twins—you guys, I guess—and was dead within two. As she died, she had said that your father was her 'only true love'."

"And?" I prompt.

"And nothing," the boy replies. "That's the story."

I furrow my brow, glaring at the ground. "I spent fifteen years trying to figure out _that_? I thought that something truly traumatic had happened! Mothers die in childbirth all the time! I can't believe the matrons actually refused to talk about something as inconsequential as that."

"It's not inconsequential," Sonja mutters.

"Whatever," I say. Shouldn't it feel good to know? Shouldn't I be happy that I have the story? Why does it not feel special? Why do not I feel like I just achieved one of the goals I've had for fifteen years?

I don't feel any different. I don't feel like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I don't feel like I just learned something that matters to me.

**A/N: This chapter is not my best work. I don't feel like I wrote either of the tributes well at all, and even though I rewrote both sections, it never came out the way I wanted it to. My apologies to Shawn and Joaquin's creators for having to sit through that…train wreck as I tried to write your tributes. Trust me, there's nothing wrong with them, I just feel like I didn't write them very well. **

**What do you think of Shawn? Of Joaquin? Who do you prefer? Who do you think will last longer?**

**Also, there's a new poll on my profile if anyone wants to fill that out. **

**Skipping random question today, sorry. **

**-Amanda**


	14. District 11 - The Boy And His Birds

**Still missing check-ins for:**

**Guadalupe**

**Achilles**

**Delta**

**Warren**

**Mercy**

**Shawn**

**Yama**

**Daniel**

**Chapter 14 – The Boy And His Birds**

_Jayanne Hart, 18_

"_I don't have much, but I do have my family."_

**Eight and a Half Months Before the Reapings**

It's been two weeks since my missed period.

I don't dare to allow myself to hope.

No matter how much I would love to be a mother, and Jiro would love to be a father, I don't know if I dare to hope. On one hand, I want to be a mother more than anything else in the world. On the other, pregnancies in District 11 rarely go without a hitch. I know more people whose mother died in childbirth than I know actual mothers. After all, there's always too more women to take the dead ones' places, what with overflowing population here.

But my family is not necessarily 'poor'. We have enough money to live comfortably, as does Jiro's, and I am confident that Jiro would never let anything bad happen to me, just as I never would with him. I'll be damned if I let something bad happen to him, and he would do the same for me. Sometimes these things are beyond our control, but I have to stay optimistic. And besides, it's a risk I'm willing to take.

It's rather hard to believe that barely a month ago, I was a virgin, and now I may be pregnant. But that is not a scary thing—it's exciting. I've always loved kids, especially my baby sister, April. I just can't imagine how amazing it would be to have children of my own, and with someone I love so much, nonetheless.

Everyone always tells me that I would be a wonderful mother. I mean, I'm practically halfway there already, what with all the kids I have babysat for, as well as taking care of April when my parents are unable. I'm prepared for it. I'm ready, I'm excited, no, I'm _overjoyed_ to be a mother.

And I think that the good outweighs the bad in this situation. Small children have practically been my life for years, and becoming a mother would only make my love for them grow.

So I grab Jiro's hand and gain the courage to look down at the test in my hand.

…there are two lines.

"Oh my gosh!" I exclaim excitedly, dropping the test and grabbing Jiro's other hand. "Jiro, we're pregnant! We're going to be parents!"

Jiro throws his arms around my shoulders. "This is amazing, Jayanne!" He leans forward and kisses me.

After a moment, we pull away in unison, and I find myself grinning from ear-to-ear. I'm going to be a mother! This is the best day of my life. I'm actually going to be a mother! My hands excitedly go to my stomach. It's tiny now, but one day it will be my child. I'll get to see it grow and become a person, find out what its interests and dislikes are. And we have to find a name! Will it be a boy or a girl? Gah! There are so many questions!

"Who should we tell about it?" Jiro asks, taking my hands back into his palms. "Of course we have to tell our parents and your sisters, right?"

"Well, Rubeth, yes," I say, still smiling. "April isn't really going to understand being pregnant, is she?"

"No, I guess not," Jiro agrees. "We'll also need to tell my siblings, and my nephew—"

"Hang on," I blurt out. "Jiro, does this mean we need to get married?" Again, I don't dare to hope. I would love to spend the rest of my life with Jiro, but would he want to spend it with me? Surely he does. Surely.

"Of course!" Jiro exclaims, an excited grin on his face. "Of course we can get married, Jay!"

I gasp, a smile to match his on my face. "You're serious?!" This really is the happiest day of my life. Everything is finally going my way. I can't believe this! I'm going to be a mother, and I'm going to marry the love of my life!

"Why would I have any reason to lie?" Jiro asks teasingly. I lean in for another kiss. I sort of lose track of time once our lips touch—oh well. It's not like I have anywhere to be in the next hour or so. I can just stay in here in Jiro's arms until then.

"I love you," I murmur when we pull away from each other. "I'm so happy I get to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I love you too," Jiro replies, leaning his forehead against mine. "_fiancé_."

A giddy feeling wells in my stomach at the word 'fiancé'. _Just imagine how it will feel when he calls you his wife, and you can call him your husband. He'll be yours forever. _I start to speak again, when suddenly the bathroom door bangs open and in waltzes Rubeth.

"Hey, lovebirds," she greets, walking offhandedly to mirror and pulling it open. "Jayanne, do you happen to know what kind of medicine would be best to put on a bird's injured wing? Asking for a friend."

Both Jiro and I stare at her for a moment before Jiro slowly starts to laugh. After a few seconds I join in, leaving Rubeth as the one staring. "What's….what's so funny?" she asks uncertainly, her eyes darting back and forth from my face to Jiro's.

I take a deep breath and say softly, "Rubeth, how would you like to be an aunt?"

"Ooh! Are you getting a puppy?" asks Rubeth excitedly.

"No, we're having a baby," Jiro says, punctuating his sentence with a laugh.

"Oh," Rubeth says, disappointed. "Oh!" A grin spreads across her face. "Ohmigosh! I have to tell everyone!" With that, she turns around and dashes out of the room.

"Rubeth, wait!" I exclaim, chasing after her, Jiro bringing up the rear, laughing all the way. Yes, this is what I look forward to. One day, this will be Jiro and I with our child, just having fun and being carefree. My life is finally on the right track, and there is nothing that could send it falling.

_Yama Oyeyemi, 14_

"_Silence is a friend who does not betray."_

**Two Months Before the Reapings**

I feel the wind whip through my hair as my feet hit the grass-covered ground. It feels good to run. I've always liked being on the move, no matter how tranquil it can be to just sit and take in the world. Sunset and sunrise are especially pretty—I don't think enough people just sit and enjoy the dawn.

The sun beats down on my back as I continue to run, the empty golden fields and hills sprawling lazily in front of me. This is one part of the district that agriculture hasn't yet touched—just a beautiful expanse of land populated by rolling hills and valleys of grass. It's so peaceful. The tranquility of the moment makes me pause and take a deep breath.

I slow my gait until I'm walking, strolling through the fields in the early morning as the sun bathes me in orange light. It's just barely peeking over the far off horizon.

The morning is silent—but all things are silent when I'm around. I slowly take a seat on the grassy hill as I suddenly feel a weight on my left shoulder. I turn my head and find a stunning eagle perched upon my shoulder, also seeming to be taking in the sunset. A smile spreads across my face as I reach out to pet its head.

Birds have always liked me. It's a good thing too, seeing as my family's main source of income is an enormous aviary. Of course, I like them too. Especially the bigger ones. Blue jays and robins and sparrows are fine, but it's eagles and falcons that I really like to make friends with.

The bird opens its beak in a silent _caw_ as I gently stroke its feathers. It really is one pretty bird. A bald eagle, if I'm not mistaken. Those kind of eagles _never_ show their faces in this part of District 11. They tend to stay farther away, where there are more orchards and less fields. More trees. More food. More cover.

Suddenly the bird lifts off from my shoulder and disappears into the sky, startling me out of my peaceful reverie. I look around for the disturbance and spot Seraphina and Mahmud running toward me. I jump to my feet and run to meet them.

Seraphina's hands flash quickly. _Hi, Yama! Sorry we scared off your bird. _

_Yeah, we haven't seen a bald eagle in ages! _Mahmud adds.

_It's fine, _I sign. _Don't worry about it. I'm sure another one will come along soon enough! _

_Always optimistic, _Seraphina comments, smiling and rolling her eyes.

I crack a smile as well. _What are you guys doing here?_

_Your parents told us you'd come out here, so we'd thought we'd come say hi, _Seraphina answers immediately. _It's been a while since we saw each other. _

I let out a silent laugh as my hands once more move. _We saw each five days ago. _

_Yeah, well, maybe that's five days too many. _

Mahmud takes a step in between us. _Alright, lovebirds, you can flirt later. _

I feel heat rush my cheeks as my smile turns bashful. Seraphina opens her mouth in a silent laugh, quickly beginning to sign something else. _We aren't dating and you know it. _

_Whatever you say_, Mahmud signs off-handedly. He turns around and looks at the sun, which has now risen mostly above the horizon. _That is some sunrise, isn't it? _

I step up beside him excitedly. _That's why I came out here! I saw it out my window when I woke up and I wanted to see it up close! It's stunning! _

Mahmud opens his mouth and laughs. _Why am I not surprised you'd wake up early to see the sunrise? _

_Come on, guys, _Seraphina signs. _Let's go back to your house. _

I pretend to pout for a moment before quickly following Seraphina and Mahmud. The golden fields pass by quickly as we walk through the tall grass. Each blade grazes against my short legs as I hurry to keep up with my friends. It's always been hard to keep up a sign-conversation while moving a lot, since it's hard to keep up with hand movements while in motion. And so our conversation drops as we walk, but I don't exactly mind. If I don't have to keep up with Seraphina and Mahmud's signs, I can focus more on the scenery as we pass. Don't get me wrong—I love my friends, and I love talking to them, but the sun hasn't finished rising yet.

After a few minutes, the outskirts of town come into view, the roof of my family's aviary peeking over the top of the ramshackle houses. I can't call my family rich, or even very well off, but we live comfortably. And so do our birds. It's an easy business, and sometimes we'll even have Capitol visitors. That's rare, though. Capitolites prefer places like 4 or 2 for their vacations. In the weeks following the Games, we never have Capitol visitors. I, personally, would rather see birds than a place where a bunch of children were murdered, but maybe that's just me?

We start to walk through the town. There aren't many people around; most of them went out into the fields earlier than I was awake today. That's one of the best parts of owning the aviary (aside from the birds, obviously): we don't have to work in the fields or orchards. Even though most people who live here don't have enough money for food, let alone for luxuries, we don't charge much for admission. There aren't many aviaries in 11 in the first place; and people like birds.

I wave to a small girl as we pass her on the street. After a few minutes, we arrive at my family's aviary. I carefully open the first doors and usher Mahmud and Seraphina inside. As I open the second doors and let Seraphina and Mahmud into the aviary, I feel two little arms wrap around my legs. I look down and see my six-year-old sister, Hana. Her mouth is moving a mile a minute, leaving me to try and read her lips. _Hi! Yama! You're back! You brought your friends! How was the fields? Was the sunrise pretty? Did you see any birds?_

A small smile plays on my face as Hana tightens her grip on my thighs, laughing a little bit. Hana doesn't quite understand everything about me, but I've got years to explain it to her.

**A/N: Hooray for updating eight-ish days late! Woo. **

**But really, sorry for the delay on this chapter. I just got back from Glacier Park yesterday and two days before that I was coming back from Denver…and now I'm here again and back with more Reapings! Yay for my continued suffering! **

**I was in a car for a combined thirty hours in the past week, and wrote an estimated three-hundred words. Good on me for being a failure!**

**Do I know sign language? No. Is that how sign language works? Probably not. Why are you asking me? I don't know sign language. **

**1\. What do you think of Yama?**

**2\. What do you think of Jayanne?**

**3\. Who do you prefer?**

**4\. Who do you think will last longer?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: who is your **_**least**_** favorite tribute introduced so far?**

**My answer: ****I can't answer that! Because I love Mercy and Hydra in a very morbid way…my antagonists are the best in the worst way possible. They sure do enable a lot of arcs for one thing, and they're also just fun to write, for another. **

**Remember to vote on the poll for who should win if you haven't! I'll add Yama and Jayanne (sorry to those who already voted and want to vote for either of them).**

**-Amanda**


	15. District 12 - Happy For Me

**Still missing check-ins for:**

**Guadalupe**

**Achilles**

**Delta**

**Warren**

**Mercy**

**Shawn**

**Yama**

**Daniel**

**Chapter 15 – Happy For Me**

_Daniel Hope, 12_

"_You don't have to be small to be big."_

**Six Years Before the Reapings**

I'm going to be a big brother!

My daddy told me it's supposed to be a girl. I'm going to get a baby sister! This is the best day of my life! I knew my mommy was going to have a baby, and I was going to get a sibling, but today is the day! Today is the day that I get my baby sister! My daddy said today is Mommy's 'due date', whatever that means. All I know is that my baby sister is coming today!

I'm practically boiling over with excitement as I follow Daddy and Mommy into the hospital. It's not a very nice building; the exterior is wooden and almost falling apart. No one looks very happy as they walk in. Aside from me, of course! I have every reason to be happy! I'm going to be a big brother! Who wouldn't be happy when they're going to get a sister? Everyone should be happy!

"Daniel, honey, calm down," Dad says, patting my shoulder. His face is illuminated by the setting sun, and even though it's late, there's no way I can be tired!

"Aw, Dad," I whine. "I'm just so excited!"

"That's great, honey," Dad replies. "Let's go inside and meet your sister, okay?"

I jump up and down, quickly following my parents inside the hospital. This is going to be great! I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I'm going to be a big brother!

A lady dressed in white walks away with my mommy. "Dad, where's she taking Mommy?" I ask, looking up Dad.

"She's taking her back so she can meet her baby," Dad explains. "We have to wait before we can meet her, though." He takes my hand and walks over to a small group of chairs. A few other people are also sitting there. None of them look very happy though. I wonder why. My mommy is going to have a baby! I'm going to be a big brother. Why isn't everyone else happy for me? That's a perfectly fine reason to be happy!

I sit in a chair beside Daddy, but I can't stop fidgeting. I'm just so excited! How long do I have to wait? I want to meet my sister already! I've never been good at waiting, but this is really, really extra hard! I don't know how long I can sit here for. "Dad, how long has it been since Mommy went back?" I ask.

"About five minutes, Daniel." Dad chuckles a little bit, shaking his head.

"Okay, how long is it going to take before I get to meet my sister?" I ask, fidgeting with my hands.

"I don't know, honey," he answers. "but it's going to be a while."

"I can't wait a while!" I exclaim. An old woman sitting a few feet away from me glares. I furrow my brow, wondering what I did wrong. I'm just excited to meet my sister. What's wrong with being excited and happy?

"Sorry, Dan, but you're going to have to," Dad replies, opening up a book. His eyes move back and forth, back and forth as he reads. I can't read very well yet, especially since I have to be homeschooled because we don't have much money. I don't really mind though. I don't need to read! Especially not now. Now I want to meet my sister.

"What are you reading?" I ask, peering over Dad's shoulder.

"Dan, I know you're bored, but can you find something quiet to do? Hospitals are usually quiet," Dad says without looking up from his book. I heave an overdramatic sigh and flop back against my chair. I stare off into space for a while, pouting in silence, as the sun finishes setting outside the window. There's no moon tonight, which is sad. I've always liked looking at the moon. I've never understood why they call it a new moon when the moon is gone. There's only one moon. We don't get a new one every month, even though that would be pretty cool…

"Hey, Daniel, wake up." I crack my eyes open blearily and look around for a moment. "You want to come meet your new sister?"

I jump to my feet. "Yes, yes, yes, yes!"

Dad smiles and takes my hand. "Come on, then. Just be quiet. It's late, and everyone here is sleeping."

A huge grin splits across my face. How did I ever fall asleep? I wasn't tired! I was to excited to be tired! I'm not complaining, though. I didn't have to sit and be bored for so long! And now I get to meet my new sister! This really is the best day of life!

I hop after Dad until we arrive at a little room. Inside I see Mommy sitting on a bed with the covers over her legs, looking overly exhausted. Still, when she sees me, she smiles tiredly. "Hi, honey," she says, lifting the small bundle in her arms. "Do you want to meet your new sister?"

"Yes!" I exclaim. I hurry over to her bed side, leaning on the railing and peering down at the bundle in her arms. In the middle of the blankets is a tiny face—my baby sister! "What's her name?"

"This is Vinneah," Mom answers. Dad, standing on the other side of the bed with his hand on Mom's shoulder, smiles down at Vinneah and I.

"I love her!" I exclaim. "I love her, I love her, I love her!" I grin at my sister, almost vibrating with excitement. I'm a big brother now! I have a baby sister! And she's the best thing ever. I love her so much and I've just met her!

I look up at the sound of my parents laughing. "What?" I ask, confused. "What's funny?"

Mommy shakes her head a little bit and says, "Oh, nothing, honey."

_Melissandre Grey, 17_

"_Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe."_

**Six Months Before the Reapings**

The sound of fire crackling makes a small smile come onto my face as I sit down beside Lyanna and Jaxson. The smell of cooking meat fills my nose. I turn to look out the window, still smiling as snow falls lazily to the ground in the night. Winters in 12 have always been hard, but I have no reason to buy wood. Why waste money on something I could get right from the forest? Wood for the fire, food for our mouths, including the small rabbit that is cooking over the flames right now.

For people in 12, my siblings and I aren't all that hungry. Okay, maybe I lied—Lyanna isn't my sister. She's just a friend who lives with us, ever since my parents died. My mother went first, just a few days after the Reapings when I was fourteen, but my father died about a year later. Lyanna has lived with us ever since.

Jaxson, well, he's my actual sibling. And while he may only be two years younger than I am, he'll always be my little brother. We could be in our nineties—as slim of a chance as that is—and I'd still be calling him my baby brother. It's just a stigma that refuses to go away.

I reach out and turn the skewered rabbit, trying to get it cooked evenly. It's certainly not the first time I've cooked something I've caught, and Panem knows it won't be the last.

I scoot closer to the fire as a shiver runs down my spine. "I think it's ready, guys." Glancing at Jaxson's face, I take the rabbit out of the fire and carefully push it off the skewer.

"I've got bread! It's fresh, too," Jaxson volunteers cheerfully. "It's a whole loaf." He hands it to me, and for a moment I simply stare at it.

"Where did you get the money to buy this?" I ask skeptically. Sometimes he's gone all night, and the next morning when he comes back, he tells me he's just been working. I want to believe him, and I've always been hoping that's he telling the truth. But I have my doubts. I know what some people will pay for sex, especially with someone as handsome as Jaxson. I would ask him, but I don't want to be wrong, and I would feel terrible about suspecting something as gross as that if I were…and maybe I'm just too stubborn to admit that I…kind of like having more money. But not at the expense of Jaxson's virginity and innocence.

"Did some odd jobs around town," he says off-handedly. "Got this as payment from the bakers."

"Oh," I say, relieved. "Good."

I take out a knife and start to slice the bread and rabbit. Of course I already skinned it—I'm no amateur.

As we dig in with the sound of the crackling fire in the middle of us, Lyanna says, "How was the forest, Mel?"

"Cold," I say between bites. "but pretty. It's quiet out there, especially since a lot of the animals are in hibernation and everything is blanketed in snow. It does make it a lot harder to find game in the winter, though. I was pretty lucky to get this rabbit and the squirrel that I sold to the Lupines."

"We would have been fine with the bread, Lissa," Jaxson says, shaking his head. "You didn't need to go out in the cold. You could have gotten hypothermia or frostbite—"

"Everything was fine, Jaxson." I shut my eyes for a moment. "I was only a little bit cold. I wasn't out there for very long. You don't need to worry about me going to the forest; no one is ever out there, and the Peacekeepers don't care."

Jaxson looks like he's about to argue back until Lyanna says, "Ooh! I saw a really handsome boy in the square today. He was seriously my ideal boy! I've never seen him before, but I don't go to the square very often. 12 is bigger than I would think!"

"What did he look like?" I ask curiously; I'm sure Lyanna's ideal boy is much different than mine.

"Definitely one of the merchants' kids," she replies. "He was pretty pale, and had platinum blond hair—not the usual merchant hair color, and his eyes, I think his eyes were green! It was like he'd come from 1!" She giggles a little bit, her eyes shining excitedly.

"I prefer people from the Seam," I say with a shrug. "You know, olive skin, gray eyes, black hair. But I do like people with green eyes."

"I wouldn't really care what she looks like," says Jaxson. "but she would need to have a good sense of humor, and be kind of…I don't know, peaceful?"

"Well, I'd need someone who could put up with endless energy!" Lyanna exclaims, laughing. "Seriously, though, I'd probably want someone who had a lot of patience, but also enjoyed going places and trying new things. Ooh, and he would need to like cats! I love cats."

"What about you, Lissa?" Jaxson asks.

I take a moment to think about it. "I'm not quite sure. I guess I'd know him when I met him. Or maybe it would take years. Who knows, really? Maybe I'll never meet the right guy, or maybe I'll meet him tomorrow."

"I already met the right guy," Lyanna says.

"Who, the boy in the square?" Jaxson asks.

Her face flushes. "No," she squeaks. We both look at her oddly for a few moments before she hurriedly shoves a bite of bread in her mouth. I shake my head and look away, back toward the small window on the wall. A few inches of snow have built up on the ledge outside, but at least the flakes falling from the sky have thinned out.

I heave a sigh of contentedness. Tomorrow, I'll have to go back out into the forest. This rabbit will hardly last us a few days. Maybe I'll get lucky tomorrow. Maybe I won't. But right now, I don't want to think about that. Right now, everything is perfect. Relatively full stomachs, my siblings happy and warm, and myself content with everything.

**A/N: YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY. We are done with the Reapings! Woot woot! Who else is excited for the pre-games/actual Games? I know I am. **

**1\. What do you think of Daniel?**

**2\. What do you think of Melissandre?**

**3\. Who do you prefer?**

**4\. Who do you think will last longer?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: are you excited to be done with the Reapings?**

**My answer: hell yeah I am! My suffering is over!**

**Next up will be the Reaping-recap, where we'll check in with the Head Gamemaker and the Vice President. **

**Alrighty, I'm going to go have some ice cream to celebrate. Reaping recap should be out in a day or two. **

**I also have a new poll on my profile if anyone is interested. **

**-Amanda**


	16. Reaping Recap

_Graciela Purdue, 26_

_Vice President of Panem_

My heels click against the ground as I walk down the hall with my clipboard pressed to my chest. The steady _click, click, click_ resonates through the corridor as I walk forward. It's kind of cold in here. Nevertheless, I push open the door at the end of the hall.

The Gamemaking room is a flurry of activity. A few of the team members—most likely the interns—are doing something at one of the stations, and a few of the other Gamemakers are still in their chairs, most likely doing last minutes checks on everything in the arena. The heads of each team are seated in the center of the room, around the arena map. Instead of a projection of the arena, however, it's a screen that currently shows the seal of Panem.

I take a deep breath and start down the stairs.

"Oh!" Silas Euphemia, the Head Gamemaker, exclaims. "I thought President Snow was coming!"

"President Snow isn't feeling well," I say in the curtest voice I can. "I'm Graciela Purdue, the Vice President. President Snow sent me in her place."

"Ah, of course," Silas says. "I remember you now. Come in, come in, let's get this Recap started."

I take a seat in the only empty chair with Silas on my left and Aristotle Petrinova, the Tribute Analysist, to my right. "Let's get started, then."

Silas nods to Aristotle and Lanai Hollister, Aristotle's intern, seated beside him. Lanai starts to speak, "So, we'll start in District 1." She clicks on something, bringing up the Reaping video from the Luxury District. The escort, who if I remember correctly was promoted from District 7 last year, stands on the stage, looking giddy. She greets the district and goes to pick a girl name.

Not a few seconds after she calls out the name, a strong voice calls, "I volunteer as tribute!" The volunteer walks out of the sixteen-year-olds section, which is a bit of a surprise. Her hair is platinum blonde, her eyes bright blue and her skin slightly tanned.

"This is Fragrance Emst," Aristotle begins. "Sixteen-years-old. She was born as Raina Reygel, but when her parents passed away at the age of three, she was taken in by her aunt and uncle. They completely cut off ties to the rest of her family, including Fragrance's younger sister, Coral, who remains in the custody of her grandparents. Her aunt and uncle, whom Fragrance believes are her parents, completely changed every piece of her. Her name, her appearance, her backstory. Sources say she even wears blue contacts and dyes her hair platinum blonde."

"Hm," I say thoughtfully. "Was she the chosen volunteer?"

"No," Lanai chirps. "Sources say the chosen volunteer was an eighteen-year-old named Goldie Prowess."

"Any more questions?" Aristotle asks. I shake my head. "Alright, let's move onto her district partner."

On screen, said district partner volunteers. His hair is also blond, his eyes bright blue but kind of tired looking. He isn't very tall, or particularly muscular, which makes me wonder if he was the chosen volunteer or not.

"Clash Winston," Aristotle says. "You may recognize the last name; his older brother is Cattler Winston, Victor of the 144th Games. I'm sure you remember those Games." No one says anything; of course we remember those Games. They were an enormous disaster, with Laila Showman getting out of the arena as a 'Survivor' after the chaos in that arena. "Clash has had a pretty normal childhood; he's been training for the Games for over ten years, but it is noted that he likes to write and has always been acing tests."

"Was _he_ the chosen volunteer?" I ask.

"Yes," Lanai answers. "He plans to become the second Victor of the Winston family. Any other questions, Vice President Purdue?"

Once more I shake my head. Lanai nods and clicks again, sending us to District 2. The escort, a woman with a name I can't quite remember, greets the district and picks a girl name. As soon as she reads it out, two voices simultaneously yell that they volunteer. The first girl, who looks much stronger than the other, has blonde hair and brown eyes. The second is sporting braces, glasses, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes.

The latter girl charges toward the stage, quickly climbing up with surprising agility. "I'm Guadalupe Dominguez!" she declares quickly, glaring at the blonde girl. "And this is _mine_."

Blondie scowls at her for a moment before she shrugs. "Alright, your loss. I guess you really do want to die."

For a moment, Guadalupe looks like she might falter. "And I'm going to win these Games, thanks."

"This is Guadalupe Dominguez, in case you didn't hear that," Lanai begins. "Eighteen-years-old, the chosen Academy volunteer. Again, a pretty normal history for her. No deaths in the family, no siblings. Just a girl who works hard toward her goals, and our sources say she's pretty Hunger Games obsessed—more than the average Career from 2."

I nod and gesture for the pair to go on.

Another _click_. A new face on the screen. This time a boy with dark brown hair and similarly colored eyes. He's built much better than Clash, and looks like he could best him any day. "Adrian Corvinus," Aristotle declares, looking slightly proud. If I remember correctly, he's a pretty big fan of the Careers in 2. "Been training since he was eight."

"Don't they not…?"

"His father appears to have some pull in Stander," Lanai says, appearing to ignore Aristotle's hurt look. "Or, at least, he did. The old Director of Trainees, Caelum Talbot, has since been let go. Of course, by that time, Adrian and his twin brother, Aleksander, were old enough to train like everyone else. Sources do note that their father was slightly verbally abusive, and even occasionally physically, but it doesn't seem to have bothered Adrian very much. Any questions?"

"Nope, go ahead."

Lanai clicks again. The square in 3 is considerably quieter and sadder than the past two districts have been. I can't really blame them; they haven't trained. No one really expects anything from District 3; the last volunteer was five years ago, and he didn't even manage to make it to the Final Eight.

"So, this is Delta Bishop," Aristotle says. The girl is question is tall and tan, with short copper hair and amber colored eyes. She has an almost fragile look to her. "Delta grew up in what is known as the Sector for a Living Panem—"

"Oh no," I mutter.

Aristotle looks slightly miffed at the interruption but carries on anyway. "Yes. She was even betrothed to the son of their leader, and she clearly believes in every part of it whole-heartedly. It's doubtful she'll be much of a problem—sources state she isn't very strong-willed—but we will be keeping an eye on her in case she pulls something funny."

Lanai un-pauses the video. The escort reaps a twelve-year-old boy who immediately bursts into tears. The peacekeepers are forced to drag the boy to the stage, but once the escort asks for volunteers—"I volunteer as tribute."

I can't help the little gasp that escapes my mouth.

"Achilles Spearmen," Aristotle says, grinning. "Seventeen-years-old. Sources say he the boy Jeremy Thomas volunteered for five years ago. His father had a heart attack when he reaped, leading Jeremy to volunteer. Our sources did note that he has been training for the past few years. Nothing formal, but we believe it stems from an idea that he needs to pay it forward after Jeremy volunteered and lost his life."

"His name makes me think he should be from 2, not 3," I say.

"Don't worry; we've checked. He's a District 3 native," Lanai assures me. "Any questions?"

"No," I say.

Aristotle laughs quietly. "President Snow always asks a million questions. You should have heard everything she had to say about the guy from 7 last year—"

"Petrinova," Silas growls in a low voice. His eyes jump to the upper left corner of the room. "remember."

Aristotle swallows thickly. "Arthur Singlewave!" he nearly yells. "Sixteen-years-old! Became Hydrophobic at the age of nine when he saw his mother and twin sister drown. Been training since he was twelve, and has an affinity for the bow, oddly enough."

"Oh, so he's an archer," I muse aloud. "Reaped, I see."

"That's not quite it," Lanai begins. "A few years back, a prominent rebel was caught—Dorian Jacques—was caught outside of Faustus. A bunch of families were kicked out of training, and Arthur left as well to stand with his friends. He's had less formal training because of that."

I shake my head before Aristotle gets the chance to ask. "Alrighty, Marina Galindez." On screen, the girl in question, sporting long blonde hair and brown eyes, announces that she volunteers. "Seventeen-years-old. Pretty laid back, normal childhood, aside from her best friend, Casper, dying via shark attack a few years back. She, unlike her male counterpart, has been Academy trained up until she volunteered."

"You said she's seventeen," I note. "Why did she volunteer?"

"Sources say the few eighteen-year-old female trainees didn't make the cut, and they needed someone."

"Hm." I nod. "Go on."

"District 5 is where we reach a…slight hitch," Silas says. "I'm not quite sure if you've heard about this, but 5 has had a long standing issue with rebels. Nothing like the idiots in 6 or 8, or Panem forbid whatever the people in 12 were thinking during the third quell, but the main problem stems from the Bekkar family. They multiply like rabbits, but around eleven months ago, Peacekeepers in 5 caught Lena and Shaw Bekkar with the help of their son, Arthur. Their fourteen-year-old daughter, Hydra, has remained in Peacekeeper custody ever since then, on the deal that she would volunteer for the Games—if she won, she would be let go and allowed to do whatever she wanted. If she died…well, she dies."

I swallow hard, nodding. "And obviously, she can't win."

Silas nods. "Obviously. We can't let a rebel like that go. She's dangerous and unstable—and trust me when I say there is no prejudice in that statement. Even if I thought she had the skills to take Victory—which I don't—well…we can't be fair to her. We can't take any risks. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course I do," I say immediately. "What options do we have?"

"A few. I'll discuss it with President Snow later. Let's go ahead and finish the recap first." Silas nods to Aristotle and Lanai.

"Alright, on to Connor Merlyn!" Lanai exclaims. This boy has light brown hair and bright blue eyes. He's about a head taller than Hydra. "You may recognize the last name; his father is Corvus Merlyn, owner a power plant company. This means Connor has grown up well off—but despite that, he's a fairly normal kid. Got a girlfriend named Sabrina, a couple of good friends. Gets good grades. Any questions?"

"Nope," I say.

"Moving on, then," Aristotle declares. "District 6. We'll start off with Mercy." This girl has a slightly odd appearance—her skin has a sort of yellowish tinge to it, which is certainly nothing new for District 6, and neither is her long black hair. But the thing that draws my attention most is her left arm. It's completely covered by a red dragon tattoo.

Mercy herself looks remarkably nonchalant for having just been Reaped. Casual, and almost…confident. _Ah, so she's arrogant._

"So, this is Mercy Mitsui," Lanai begins. "Daughter of Salvo Mitsui—I'm assuming you've heard of him."

Of course I've heard of Salvo Mitsui. If I ever become President, shutting him down would be my first order of business. "Yes."

"Since he's known as 'the new Martin Harper', Mercy is basically the new Lori. Arrogant, spiteful, greedy—every characteristic a future drug lord needs to possess. The Head Peacekeeper of 6 claims that he knows nothing about her happening to be Reaped, but what comes next says differently—"

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Again, I gasp. If 3 rarely has volunteers, 6 never has them. The last one was around ninety years ago.

"Warren Oto," Aristotle says. "Currently, no idea why he volunteered, but we're looking. The only idea we have is that his family is currently indebted to the Red Lizard Gang—coincidentally, the same gang Mercy's father leads. There might be something going on between the two of them."

"Keep an eye on it," I say.

"Will do," Aristotle says. "Any other questions?"

I shake my head.

"District 7 it is, then!" Aristotle says. "We'll start with Monk, since he was Reaped first—" Monk has his head cocked to the side, sort of like a confused puppy. He just looks fragile and nervous, almost afraid of anything that moves. Despite this, Monk's eyes look slightly empty. "Monk Redwood—at least, a sort of alias he has taken. When he was ten, Monk was found in a forest with no memory of how he got there, who he was, or anything, really. They gave him the name Monk Redwood and sent him to the Community Home. Apparently they even checked for DNA matches all over 7, but there were none. Either he came from a different district, or was never registered in the Justice Building."

"Huh." I frown. "Go on."

"Vanye Taller," Lanai says. "Also fifteen-years-old. Her family own a small orphanage, and she looks after many of the younger kid. It is noted that she has pretty bad anger issues and throws 'tantrums' often. Still, she seems like a fairly nice girl. Maybe a bit arrogant."

"Doesn't look like 7's getting a back to back Victory, does it?" Aristotle jokes. "If those two get out of the Bloodbath alive, I'll eat Silas's ridiculous rainbow bowtie—"

"Petrinova, please continue with the recap," Silas says through slightly gritted teeth. It makes me stifle my laugh.

Aristotle clears his throat. "Right. Yes. Fulmina Athnan, seventeen-years-old, daughter of Victor Raia Athnan—no doubt you've heard of her. Raia, being paranoid, made Fulmina train from a fairly young age, convinced that one day Fulmina would be Reaped."

"Well, she wasn't wrong," Lanai mumbles. Both Aristotle and Silas glare at her.

"Alright, let's move on. Carter Sykes, eighteen-years-old," Aristotle says. Carter's skin is lightly tan, and his hair is short and brown. "He lives with his mother. His father is unknown, but he is best friends with the daughter of 8's mayor. Apparently, she is rather paranoid, and started precautionary training a while back. Carter joined her, which gives him a few fighting skills, but certainly nothing to the caliber of a Career, or even to someone like Achilles."

"Questions?" Lanai asks.

"No."

"District 9, then," says Lanai. "Flourish Jemsly, seventeen-years-old. Started life as Flouran Jemsly, but at the age of twelve began undergoing procedures so she could become a girl. Ever since then, her father has basically ignored her, and her older brothers have a very tenuous relationship with her. She does appear to have remained resilient, however." Flourish's red hair covers her face slightly as she holds her hands over her mouth, seeming just surprised.

"Rylan Darlux," Aristotle says. "Sixteen-years-old." Rylan's copper colored eyes are shining with tears, but he still moves toward the stage quickly. "His mother died giving birth to him and his triplet siblings, leading his father to resent them and turn to alcohol to ease his pain. Sources say he is slightly abusive to them, and Rylan does have a few marks for stealing on his file—and likely his back, too."

"Oh," I breathe. "No questions."

Lanai clicks to District 10. I don't think I'll ever forget what happens next—the escort picks Shawn Hamilton.

And from the sixteen-year-olds section, someone starts to laugh. And not just, giggle or chuckle a little bit. No, Shawn begins to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. The laugh remains mirthless, a completely empty sound with no joy in it. After a few moments of complete silence, the girl gets to her feet, still laughing, and stumbles toward the stage.

"Shawn Hamilton," Aristotle begins. "Sixteen-years-old. One week ago, her younger sister went suicide, and in her note, she blamed Shawn for bullying her to suicide. Shawn appears to deny these claims, and is noted as quite depressed and emotionless."

"So…is it actually her fault? Her sister's suicide, I mean?" I ask.

Aristotle shakes his head. "Most likely it is her fault, but maybe there is more to the story. Not everything is in a tribute's file, after all."

"Joaquin Murrieta," Lanai says. "Also sixteen-years-old. A Community Home kid. He and his twin sister were born there, shortly before their mother died. Not much else to say about him, though—he isn't much."

District 11 once more yields a surprise. The escort calls Jayanne Hart. The eighteen-year-old starts to cry. Nothing new. After a few moments she wipes her tears and starts to walk to the stage—showing off her pregnant belly…

"Oh my." I raise my eyebrows. "I thought there were statutes in place to stop pregnant women from being reaped…?"

"Yes…well, Coriolanus Snow did away with them during his time in office," Silas says, looking down at his lap.

"So, this is Jayanne Hart!" Lanai exclaims. "Almost nine months pregnant with her husband, Jiro Kayje's, baby. Doctor reports say her due date is Day 3 of the Games."

"Is there a way to save the baby?" I ask, ignoring the nervousness that is creeping into my stomach.

"Regrettably…no. Not without the approval of President Snow and her advisors," Silas replies.

"Can we move on?" Lanai asks. "There's nothing we can do for Jayanne. Not now, at least."

"Yes, go ahead," I say firmly.

On the screen, the escort quickly chooses a male, eyeing Jayanne nervously. She announces Yama Oyeyemi as the tribute, and for a few moments, there is no movement in the crowd. Until, of course, someone moves around the fourteen-year-olds section. No one is talking, but after a second, a boy with dark skin slowly starts to leave the crowd.

"Yama Oyeyemi," Lanai declares, looking oddly at Aristotle. "Fourteen-years-old. Yama was born deaf, which means we'll need to get a translator for his interview. His parents own a large aviary, and he and his siblings help out there instead of working in the fields." A small smiles spreads across Lanai's face as she clicks again. "We're on the homestretch now! So, this is Melissandre Grey."

Melissandre looks shell-shocked. She isn't very tall, but her hair is long and dark brown. She has a fairly average look for District 12.

"Seventeen-years-old," Lanai continues. "Both of her parents have died in the past few years. She lives with her younger brother and best friend. They are fairly well-off, but I believe we are missing a piece to the puzzle. Unbeknownst to Melissandre, her younger brother sleeps with women to make extra money."

"You said she lives with her best friend?" I ask. "Why?"

"Lyanna Frey's parents died shortly before Melissandre's. Apparently, they believed they could make more money if they worked together, so the trio moved in together."

"Ah," I say. "Continue."

"Daniel Hope," Lanai says after a moment, her voice sounding slightly absent. She continues to look at Aristotle, who appears to have not noticed her. "Twelve-years-old. He's a pretty normal kid. Has a younger sister, both parents are alive, fairly well off—"

"Vice President Purdue!" The door bursts open, a slightly disheveled man with bright yellow hair running in. "President Snow—President Snow just suffered a stroke. She's dead."

"What?" I splutter, getting to my feet. "Can she be revived?"

"No! We've tried but she's dead…" the man trails off. "You have been named interim president."

I feel my face drain of color. I turn to Silas, who looks just as, if not more, surprised. Of course President Snow was old, but I didn't realize she had that bad of health…doesn't the Capitol have technology to stop these sorts of things? My eyes jump from one Gamemaker to another—most everyone looks shocked. Aristotle's eyes are wide, but he doesn't look sad. Lanai has her hands over her mouth.

This had to happen right now. In the midst of the Games. Snow couldn't have picked a better time to die, could she?

What am I going to do?

**A/N: OoOoOh I'm excited about this. Don't worry though, it's not going to take up too much. It's just going to be mentioned rarely. **

**1\. Do you like Graciela as a person?**

**2\. Do you like Graciela as a president?**

**3\. Do you understand Fragrance's backstory now?**

**4\. Now that we have seen all the tributes, who do you want to win?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: do you like day or night?**

**My answer: night. Darkness and stars are pretty. **

**Next up is goodbyes, and we'll check in with Connor, Fulmina, Warren, Jayanne and Shawn.**

**There is a final eight poll if anyone is interested in voting.**

**-Amanda**


	17. So This Is Goodbye?

_Connor Merlyn, 18_

_District 5 Male_

The escort tells Hydra and I to shake hands. I avert my eyes from her face as I extend my hand. Hydra has this strange look on her face, a slightly creepy smile and empty eyes characterizing her features. I take a deep breath and clasp her hand. I expect her to squeeze too hard or pull too much, but she isn't even looking at me. Her eyes are trained over my shoulder.

I catch what may very well be my last look at the square of District 5. I can't say I'll miss this place—not the cold corridors of my father's home, not Cora's unhappy stares, not the high expectations. The only thing I could see myself missing is my friends—and more importantly, Sabrina.

Hydra disappears into the other goodbye room. I would be perfectly content to leave her here, in the past, in District 5. But I would rather be here with her than be here with Sabrina—but I'm also not thankful for what she did. Yes, I would rather Sabrina be safe than Hydra, but I'm not going to grovel at Hydra's feet and worship her like a god. Even I have to have some dignity left.

As soon as the door closes behind me, I cross the goodbye room. I can't imagine how many kids sat here before me, probably having never seen a room this nice before. But to me? Father's wine cellar is nicer than this room. Nevertheless, I take a seat on the couch, sinking into the cushions as I let my muscles relax. In a few days, I won't be relaxing like this. I guess it just hasn't really sunk in yet.

"Connor!" As soon as Sabrina enters the room, I'm on my feet and hugging her close to my chest. "Oh my god, tell me this is a dream."

I frown a little, looking over Sabrina's shoulder. "I wish I could." A mirthless laugh spills out of my mouth. "I just don't think it's quite sunk in yet."

"It probably won't, not for a while," Sabrina murmurs. "Maybe it never will."

"Don't say that," I say immediately. "Please, don't say that."

The silence that follows is too charged for my liking. I've never liked silence; there is always too much of it in my house. But when Sabrina and I are alone…our silence used to feel comfortable. Maybe it's because we knew we had years to talk, to be together, just to around each other.

Now there will always be more things to be said. In these few final minutes I have with the girl I love, there is no way I can say them all. And so I continue to hold her close to my chest, knowing this could be the last time I ever hug her.

A peacekeeper opens the door. "Time's up."

"Connor!" Sabrina exclaims as the door begins to close again. "I'm—"

The door slams closed. I sink back onto the cushions of the couch and put my head in my hands. What was Sabrina going to say? Maybe I'll never know. But, well, I'll be damned if I let her go like that.

A few moments later, the doors open again and in walks Felix and Lucas. I'm on my feet again as both of them talk over each other.

"Damnit, Connor, why does this always happen to us—"

"You need to promise us—"

"Woah, woah, guys, slow down," I say. "We've got—"

The word hangs unsaid in the air. _We've got time._ Are thoughts of the lack of time I have left already getting to my head? How am I ever going to get out of here if I keep telling myself that I'm going to die? I have to be optimistic. Not so optimistic that I lose sight of the truth, of the likelihood of my demise, but pessimism has no place here.

"Um, never mind. Go on," I mumble.

"You've got to come home, Connor," says Lucas. "For one thing, Sabrina will never move on—and, well, neither will us. Right, Felix?"

"Lucas is right, Connor," Felix agrees. "We need you to come back. Prove it to your father that you have the ability to do this. You can do it. You've got the skills."

"Time's up!" the Peacekeeper announces as he slams open the door again. Felix and Lucas disappear into the hallway, leaving me alone once more. I shut my eyes and flop back against the couch, wishing I could just sink into the pillows and disappear.

A few minutes later, the escort comes back. I don't know if I expected my father and sister to come. What point would there have been? We've never been close. Father has Cora to carry on the business without me. He clearly doesn't think I have the abilities to win the Hunger Games. And it's not exactly like he, or Cora, are people I'm going to miss too terribly. Even when we were kids, Cora and I were never friends. We were, and still are, just too different from each other.

I sigh and follow the escort and Hydra out of the Justice Building.

_Shawn Hamilton, 16_

_District 10 Female_

I don't think anyone will come see me. Maybe Betty will come. But even I have my doubts about that. I guess once you're blamed for your sister's suicide, nobody really wants to be friends with you. And I thought I was lonely before all of this happened.

The door shuts behind me. I stay standing right where I am, my eyes shut tight. My life is just such a shit show that I can't even feel sad or afraid. This is just another hitch in a long line of fuck yous the world has handed to me. I guess I'm content to wallow in self pity until I die. Is it even worth it to try at this point? If I won, would it matter? Would anyone care? Or would I just be the girl who bullied her sister to suicide and also happened to win the Hunger Games?

The couch on the other end of the room suddenly looks very inviting.

As soon as I collapse onto the pillows, the door opens. I look up, curious, to see Betty slowly walk into the room.

"I figured if no one else was going to come, someone should tell you goodbye," she mumbles. "And…no matter what you did, we're still friends. I should tell you goodbye. I guess."

"…thanks."

"So…this is goodbye, I suppose. It was nice to know you, Shawn."

I turn to look out the window. She doesn't sound like the Betty I know. Her words are too cold. I guess I was right. It wouldn't matter if I won. Because if even Betty McFarland is disgusted to associate with me, I really must have done some bad shit.

I pull my knees to my chest. "I don't need your pity, Betty."

Betty's face turns angry, and she crosses her arms across her chest. "I don't know why I bothered to come here. I don't know how we were ever even friends. Maybe I should just be glad you saved everyone for your sister and left me alone."

"Maybe if you had considered the only factors in the situation, you would see it from my point of view," I mumble.

"You know what, Shawn?" Betty says venomously. "I did try to see it from your point of view. But your point of view is _disgusting_. Ingrid never did anything wrong, did she? You just had to ruin a perfectly good child—and now you expect us to pity you after you did it."

I shut my eyes, clenching my right around the air of the couch. "Maybe I never did anything wrong too."

"Yeah, ah-huh, sure," Betty says, rolling her eyes. "You know, Shawn, people are disgusted that I was friends with you. I feel ostracized because I dared to talk to you."

"Oh, boo-hoo," I snark, suddenly feeling angry. Betty and I have been friends for years, and she was too oblivious to notice how much I was suffering at the hands of Carl. "Poor you. People don't like you because you used to talk to me. Stop being so selfish and grow up."

"_You're _calling _me _selfish?" Betty exclaims, sounding affronted. "You're the most selfish person I've ever met. You bullied your sister into _suicide_, for Panem's sake! I don't know why I ever even bothered to talk to you."

And with that, she yanks open the door and slams it shut behind her. "Oh, yeah, you've always gotta have the last word!" I shout after her, but it's doubtful that she even heard.

As soon as the door shuts, the silence in the room begins to weigh down on my shoulders. I don't stand up to people; not to Carl at least, and he's the only person who has ever bothered. But I guess once you are responsible for your sister's suicide, the whole world sort of turns against you and suddenly you have to stand up for yourself. If Carl had come in here and accused me of being selfish, it probably would have gone a lot differently.

But it was _Betty_.

Betty, who was supposed to be my _friend_. My only friend left in the whole world. Sure, maybe she had been a bit oblivious, but at least she made me feel normal.

I flop down on the floor, ignoring the slight stab of pain that ripples up my spine. It hurts, yeah, but I'm used to it.

_Fulmina Athnan, 17_

_District 8 Female_

I already know that Mom isn't mentoring this year. She hasn't mentored in years, and after this, it'll likely never happen. My training is still intact—of course it is. I have been training every day for nine years. I am prepared.

I silently sit in a plush chair, shifting and relaxing into the cushions as I wait for possible visitors. It's doubtful anyone besides my mother will come—I suppose my isolated lifestyle yields little friendships. It's not exactly as if I mind. I have never really been a people person. We just don't click.

A sigh fights its way past my lips. I wish they had waited one more year before they decided to rig me in. Not only because I _could_ die, and would have loved to have another year in Panem, but mainly because it would have given me more time to polish my skills. My skills aren't bad, per say, seeing as I've been honing them for almost ten years, but nine years just doesn't feel like enough time. Would I be any more confident in one year? Who knows. But I'd certainly feel better than I do right now.

The door slowly creaks open and I curiously look up. My mother walks into the room, a look of indifference on her face. "Hello, Fulmina."

"Hi, Mom," I greet in return.

"Don't worry about anything, Fulmina," says Mom. "You're going to be fine. You've training, you're prepared, you're—"

"Probably going to die?" I offer. "Because yes, you're right. I'm probably going to die."

"You have you're training," Mom scoffs. "You're going to be fine."

"Yes, and so do all the Careers." I shake my head. "And they have more intense training than I do, and have likely been doing it longer."

"Oh come on, Fulmina," Mom says, rolling her eyes. "You're. Going. To. Be. Fine."

"And who are you telling that to?" I ask. "Who are you trying to convince? You, or me? Because face it, Mom. You just don't want more heartbreak. You don't care about me. You just want to spare yourself from more pain. If you wanted that, you should have never had me in the first place. If you were so certain that one day I would be Reaped, maybe it would have been safer for both of us if you'd never had kids at all. Could have spared yourself pain. Could have spared _me_ pain as well."

Mom looks slightly taken aback. "Fulmina—I—I didn't—I don't—that's not—ugh!"

I cross my arms. "You can't deny that I'm right. You're selfish; you don't care about me, or anyone else."

"I do care about you, Fulmina," Mom says softly. "I don't want you to die. I don't want you to suffer because of my mistakes—"

"Well, that didn't work out very well for ya, did it?" I growl angrily. "I _am_ going to suffer because of your sins. I am going to _die_ because of what you did."

"If that's what you think, maybe I shouldn't have trained you at all," Mom says in a low voice. "Maybe you don't need help, then I'll tell Koren and Travers to let you die, if you're so sure you won't win."

"I'm not saying I won't win!" I cry. "I'm saying it's _unlikely_ that I will! Won't you listen to me for once in your life?"

"Is this really how you want me to remember you?" Mom exclaims, looking almost…hurt. "As a thankless, pessimistic _brat_?"

"I don't care if you remember me," I whisper vehemently. "I'd rather be forgotten than be remembered by someone like you."

Mom looks completely and totally horrified by my words. "That's it. I'm leaving." She turns on her heels and begins to walk to the door, but I call out to stop her.

"Is this how you think you won't feel sad when I'm dead? By pretending to hate or resent me? Because if you've lived with me, loved me for seventeen years, that's not going to work out for you."

She doesn't say anything. Instead she just sweeps from the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

I remain seated in my plush chintz chair, staring off into space and reflecting on the past few minutes. I've never been the biggest fan of my mother, but I don't want her to hate me when I die. Unfortunately, it's not like there's any way to go back on what I said. Even if I was nice enough to admit I was wrong, it's not like I can find her and apologize.

I made this bed, and now I have to lie in it.

_Warren Oto, 18_

_District 6 Male_

"_Why did you do it, Warren?"_

I can already hear Tabitha's voice in my head, reprimanding me for doing something stupid. She doesn't understand, and she can't. I can't tell her. It's not like Salvo would ever know…but I suppose it's mainly for peace of mind. And to hide my own guilt for leaving Tabitha high and dry, all alone.

"_Why would you volunteer?"_

She's not even hear, but I already know that's what she going to say. I can't expect any differently from Tabitha. We've always protected each other, despite any age difference.

"_Why would you leave me?"_

I don't know if Tabitha would ever say that. Maybe she would be thinking it. Maybe she would, at least, give me the mercy of not saying it aloud.

"_Why, why, why?"_

The door creaks open, and suddenly Tabitha is clinging to torso, her arms wrapped tightly around my chest. "I want to wake up," she mumbles into my shirt. "I don't want this anymore. I want to wake up. Why isn't this a dream? Why haven't I woken up yet?"

I look down and pull Tabitha closer, watching the tears that course down her cheeks stain into my shirt. "I'm sorry, Tab—"

"You can't apologize!" Tabitha exclaims, pulling out of my arms and taking a step backward. "Apologies aren't good enough, Warren! You're going to die, and then I'll be all alone." She chokes on a sob as she throws her arms around me again. "I just don't get why you did it. I know there's a reason, Warren…you would n-never just do s-something like this!"

At my silence, Tabitha chokes back another sob. "Why don't you trust me, Warren? Can't you just explain?"

Silence.

"Come on, Warren! This could be the last time I ever speak to you—" Tabitha's voice breaks. "I don't want you to die before you tell me. Please."

I swallow thickly and open my mouth. "I—"

"Time's up!" a Peacekeeper announces as the door bursts open.

"Warren!" Tabitha yells. "No! I have to know! Warren!"

"Tabitha!" I cry, taking a step forward and reaching pointlessly for her. "I love you."

The door slams shut and I sink to the floor. I didn't get to say goodbye, not really. Damnit, Warren, why can't you ever make good decisions? You should have just told her why you volunteered, why you left her, and then you could have said an actual goodbye. You wouldn't die knowing the last conversation you had with the only person left in the world that you love was because you were too stupid and stubborn to just explain.

Tabitha's words continue to ring in my ears as I shakily get off the floor and move to the couch.

This was the right choice. I may suffer, but Tabitha will live. Maybe she will stay with the Red Lizard gang forever, but at least she will live. But she will find a way out. She is resourceful enough, smart enough, brave enough, to find a way out. Some way or another, I have faith that Tabitha will escape and be able to live like she deserves to. Maybe I will die, but Tabitha will no longer suffer because of my mistakes.

Suddenly the door bursts open and in waltzes Salvo Mitsui. "Good, good."

I remain seated, stubbornly refusing to stand for him.

"It's nice to know that you are smart enough to keep promises," Salvo continues. "Of course, I had back-ups in case you turned out to be just as cowardly as I assumed you were—I suppose that is your only redeeming quality. That and obedience. An obedient, loyal idiot—" He laughs, shaking his head with his eyes closed.

I don't say anything. I don't trust myself to. If I say the wrong thing, Salvo could take that anger out on Tabitha, and this time I won't be here to protect her. Tabitha can protect herself from most things—but even someone like her has a breaking point.

"So, just came to say: good job, don't mess the rest of it up. You know the consequences if you betray my daughter, in anyway, shape or form," Salvo finishes off. He turns to leave, his steps quick but confident.

"Wait," I say quietly. He pauses, but doesn't turn to face me. Not that I expected him to. "If I win, we get out. That's the deal?"

"Yes," Salvo snaps. And then he yanks open the door and slams it behind him.

I let out a sigh, shutting my eyes tightly. This is my reality now. This is really how I die. And the only person I will die beside is Mercy Mitsui, the girl who convinced my beloved sister to become a murderer.

_Jayanne Hart, 18_

_District 11 Female_

My hands wrap around my bulging stomach as I slowly sit down in a chair. How is this real? This can't be real. There's no way this is real.

It's impossible to believe that twenty minutes ago, all I was worried about was what we were going to name our baby. And now here I am, doubting that I will ever live to meet my child, let alone get to name her. Okay, it could be a boy. Jiro and I had decided to have it be a surprise, but now that is one of my biggest regrets. Had I been smart, or been able to see the future, I would have found out. Just so I could have known.

That's the thing I'm most afraid of. Dying without knowing. Not knowing my child. Not knowing who they are, who they will become. Not even living long enough for either of us to see the light of day. I know I won't win. It's impossible. But if I live long enough (and that's a big if) to go into labor, live long enough to give birth, what will become of my child?

I can't imagine even the worst of Careers would be okay with killing a baby. But would my child be treated like a tribute, or would they be saved from the arena? What is going to happen if I manage to get out of the Bloodbath, to survive for three days?

"Jayanne!" Jiro cries as he bursts into the room. I throw myself into his arms, careful to not jostle my stomach too much. "Oh my god, honey. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," I murmur into his shoulder. "I really don't. Oh, the baby…"

"The baby?" Jiro repeats incredulously. "You! What about you, Jay? I don't care about the baby; I just want you to be safe. There can be more children, but there is only one Jayanne." He drags his left hand down his face, the other hand holding tightly around his hair. "I can't live without you, Jayanne. You're…you're the light of my life, Jay."

I expect him to make me promise to come home. While I would like the comfort, it would all be false. False comfort. False hope. False. False. False.

I lean forward and silently kiss Jiro. This is the last time I will ever kiss the person I love the most in the world. This is the last I will ever see of my husband. Final kisses. Final words. Final everything. "I love you," I say when we pull away. I rest my forehead on his. "so much. Even when I'm gone, never forget that. Promise me that. Please."

Jiro opens his mouth and closes it a moment later. _You aren't going to die_. It hangs unspoken between us, because both of us know it is false. I, and likely my unborn child, are going to die, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. It's all up to me.

"Time's up!"

"Jiro, I love you," I say, quickly kissing him one last time.

"I love you too," he says sincerely, and then he is gone.

A few moments later, my family bursts in. Rubeth carefully hugs me around the side. "Jayanne, please don't go," she mumbles through her tears. "Please, please, please stay. I don't want to be the oldest. And what about April? She won't even r-r-r-remember you."

"I know, Ru, I know." I gently rub the back of her head. "I don't want to go."

"We love you, Jayanne," my mother says, joining in on our hug. "Very much."

"I love you all too," I say. "Oh, April…"

I look down at April's young face. She has her hand clasped tightly in my father's and is looking at me with confusion. "Wha?" she says. "Where Jay goin'?"

"I have to go away now, April," I say, taking her other hand. "And I probably won't be coming back."

"Why?" she demands.

"I don't want to, but I have to, honey," I reply.

She sticks out her bottom lip and pouts. I would laugh in any other situation at her childish antics. But now? Now, all I can think about is that I will never see her again.

"Time's up."

I remain silent as my family leaves. I can't even bear to look at their faces. I'll never see any of them again. I won't see April grow up. I won't see if Rubeth achieves her dreams of being a veterinarian. I won't see Jiro and I raise our child. I won't get to see any of it.

After all, I'll be dead.

**A/N: Twelve chapters (!) left until the Bloodbath. Yes, twelve. That may seem like a lot, but most of them aren't going to be very long.**

**1\. Which goodbye was the hardest?**

**2\. Rank these fives tributes from best to worst. **

**3\. If one of these five tributes were to win, which would you prefer?**

**4\. Of these five tributes, which do you think will make it furthest?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: have you ever written any original stories?**

**My answer: a lot, yeah. I'm currently only working on one story, but I have a million unfinished ones. **

**Next up is the train rides, with Clash, Vanye, Hydra, Yama and Carter.**

**-Amanda **


	18. Train Ride to Hell

_Clash Winston, 18_

_District 1 Male_

The silence in the train car is palpable at the least. Peridot is angry at Money. Money is angry at Fragrance. Fragrance is…angry at someone, probably. Me? I'm not angry at anyone, aside from maybe Fragrance from shoving Goldie Prowess out of her spot on the train. I didn't really know her well, though—it's just that Fragrance's possible lack of proper training worries me slightly. _Slightly_. Everything will turn out fine. I'm supposed to be here. They _told_ me to be here. So I must be the right choice.

Suddenly Money stands up. "Ya know what, I think I'll take Clash into another room so we can get started—got a problem with that, Peri?"

"Am I ever going about complain to you leaving?"

Money laughs heartily and gestures for me to follow him out of the car. I slowly get to my feet, casting a look over my shoulder at Fragrance and Peridot. Neither of them return my gaze. A sigh escapes my lips. Money and Peridot clearly hate each other. Fragrance isn't even supposed to be here. Am I the only sane person in this room? Hopefully not—at least, I would hope Fragrance is still sane, or else we are going to have a serious problem.

"So," I say. "What's the plan?"

A small shadow crosses Money's face before he starts to speak. "You wanna know how I won my Games, kid?"

"Um…okay."

Of course I know how Money won his Games. Him being the most recent Victor from District 1, they showed his Games religiously in the Academy. I've spent entire days analyzing his every move and why his tactics worked.

Money laughs again before he continues. "I'm not talking about how I got rid of the other tributes—but if you want to know my take on that, I'll gladly talk about it—I'm talking about how I established my dominance over the other Careers."

I swallow thickly. Do I need to establish dominance? I don't want to be the leader of the Careers. I'm happy to be a follower if it means I will be less of a target.

"Have you ever seen a Career win without being the leader of the Careers?" Money asks as the door to the next car whooshes open. I slowly follow him inside and take a seat in one of the chairs.

_Yes, I have. It happens a lot. _I bite my tongue to stop the words from spilling forth. I don't think Money would appreciate that, since he clearly knows what he's talking about and probably doesn't like criticism…

Instead I just shake my head.

"So, that's the first step to establishing yourself as the clear Victor," Money begins. I lean forward, clasping my hands together between my knees. "You need to become the leader of the Careers."

Looking down at my feet, I softly say, "…how?"

"Propose a vote. Make it seem like the others' idea," Money replies simply.

"What's going to make them vote for me, though?" I ask. I'm still not entirely on board with this idea, but if Money is sure it will work…

"First off, since you were the one who suggested the vote, that will prove to them that you have good ideas. And seeing as you were the chosen volunteer, and at least that bitch—" he inclines his head toward the door, back toward Fragrance and Peridot. My eyes dart away from his face for a moment. "—should know that. And I've taken a look at the other Careers. The only true competition you're going to have is the boy from 2."

"Okay," I say slowly. "Once I become the leader, what then?"

"The first thing you're going to want to do is to kick the girl from 2 out of the alliance," Money declares. He must be able to see the shock in my eyes. "and replace her with the boy from 3."

I look at him oddly. "But what's wrong with the girl from 2?"

"She's practically useless," answers Money.

"But…" I start, only to trail off after a moment. "Never mind. So, I become the leader. And get the girl from 2 out. And get the boy from 3 in. Then what?"

"If you're going to get out of that arena alive, you need to switch a few things off," Money says. "Being nice. Being selfless. Being empathetic. Check all that at the door. Throw it out the window. That's how I won. That's how Peridot won. That's how all of the Victors from 1 won. You have to stop feeling for other people, and only look out for yourself. Remember, you didn't come here to make friends. You came here to win. Didn't you, Clash?"

"…yes, of course I did." I shake my head. "This doesn't feel right. This isn't what I wanted to do."

"Even if you don't _want_ to use this strategy, this is the way to win," Money replies. "Which one of us won the Hunger Games?"

"You," I answer quietly, punctuating my sentence with a slight sigh.

"Exactly. I know what I'm talking about, kid—"

"Then why have you never brought a tribute home?" I demand, crossing my arms across my chest.

For a moment, Money looks mad. I lean back in my chair, instantly regretting every word I've ever said. But then Money starts to laugh, and laugh and laugh. "That is exactly what you need, kid! You need that fire, than anger, that vindictiveness! Hell, you're halfway there already." He pats me on the back. "Just remember—_switch it off_. Keep that fire and use it to win."

Money gets to his feet and leaves the train car, leaving me sitting in silence to digest what he just told me.

_Hydra Bekkar, 14_

_District 5 Female_

"So, should we get started?" Ave says, clearly fighting to put a smile on her face.

I roll my eyes. "I don't need your help, loyalist scum."

Ave and Solaryn exchange a shocked look. Finally Ave tentatively opens her mouth and continues to speak, much to my dismay. "Um—we're not—"

"Let me stop you there," I curtly, holding up a hand to silence them. "Yes, you are loyalist scum, as you haven't done anything against the Capitol, which automatically means you are a loyalist—"

"No, it doesn't," says Solaryn. "Just because some of us don't want our families to be executed doesn't mean we happily suck up to the Capitol."

I swear I see red at his words. "Yes it does," I growl vehemently. "Anyone who doesn't try to take down the Capitol is a loyalist by default. You can't deny that I'm right. You _know_ it—"

"Hydra, we don't want to argue with you about this—" Ave starts, but once again I cut her off.

"Too bad, bitch," I snarl. "You're wrong, and you're even going so far to deny it! You're sick, sick people who do nothing but play the Capitol's games and blindly follow their orders just to look out for your hides!" I turn to Connor. "What about you? Are you a leader or a follower? Are you going to help me get what I want, what Panem needs, or are you a blind follower just like them?"

Connor looks slightly taken aback at being addressed. After a moment his face turns steely and a smile creeps onto my mouth. He's going to stand with me. He wants what I want. "Maybe I'm being selfish, but I actually want to live, funnily enough."

I stagger backward, completely shocked. "What the _fuck_, Connor?" I demand, rushing toward him and jabbing my finger at his chest. "What has the Capitol ever done for you, huh? Has the Capitol ever loved you, huh? Fed you, huh? What reason do you have to defend it, huh?"

"I'm not defending it," Connor says calmly. "I'm simply saying that I have no reason to fight against it, or fight for it, so I'm not going to lay down my life because of someone else's opinions. You're welcome to whatever you want to think, but you have no right to force your opinions onto me, especially since they could get me killed."

As soon as Connor finishes his speech, the only thing I see is red. I launch myself toward Connor, latching my hands around his throat and pressing, pressing, pressing harder and harder. An animalistic sound crawls out of Connor's throat as he chokes for air. _Kill him_, a voice in my head says. _Kill the traitor. He deserves it. _

_Yes, _I think. _I'll kill him. That will show them who's boss. _

Suddenly I feel hands on my shoulders, ripping me off of Connor as he continues to flail. "Let the fuck go of me!" I shout angrily, thrashing and screaming and swearing. "Get your fucking hands off of me!"

"Hold her down!" Ave shouts. "Sol, call the Peacekeepers—!"

I continue to thrash as Solaryn's hands clamp around my wrists, holding me to the ground. Angrily I launch upright with fury in my eyes and bite down hard on Solaryn's nose.

He rears back, clamping his hands over his nose and yells, "Shit!" I continue to thrash around, pummeling his stomach with my feet. I can taste his blood. It's metallic but bitter. I roll over and spit it out on carpet, fighting to get to my feet.

I can see Connor laying half-conscious against the wall. _Damnit, Hydra, you should have held on just a little bit longer, and then you could have killed the traitor. You always mess everything up. You can't even kill someone right!_

"Shut up!" I exclaim, leaping to my feet, my eyes darting wildly around the room. "Just shut up!"

I feel a needle enter the back of my neck, someone pressing a foreign liquid into my veins. "No!" I shout, trying to throw my weight forward. "N…" It's too late. I can practically feel the tranquilizer making its way through my body as my vision blurs and my body sways.

Everything goes black as the floor rushes toward my face.

_Vanye Taller, 15_

_District 7 Female_

The first thing that hits me when I enter the train car is how hot it is in here. Maybe it's because the car is relatively small for a dining room, and there are already two people here—the Avoxes that stand silently on either wall, beside the doors. I can't imagine what it would be like to be an Avox. Not only would I feel eternal guilt for whatever had gotten my tongue cut out in the first place, but I don't think I'd do too well with that many commands hanging over my head.

"No." I turn toward the source of the voice, and my eyes land on my mentor, Macy. Her eyes are screwed shut tightly. Larken's arm is across her chest as if to keep her from throwing herself to the floor. Suddenly her eyes snap open and she runs from the room, completely silent but looking like she has a seen a ghost. I rack my brain for last year's Games. Perhaps she really has seen a ghost. This would be the same car she sat in last year. How was her relationship with her District partner?

"You two, stay here," Larken says firmly, almost angrily. A moment later, he dashes out of the room after Macy, leaving Monk and I standing awkwardly.

Finally Monk stumbles over to the table and takes a seat. As soon as he reaches for a cupcake, I sit down across from him and grab a quiche. Monk continues to stuff his face while I contemplate starting to speak. "So…do you know what's wrong with Macy?" I finally decide to ask.

Monk is silent as he chews and swallows. "I don't really know the whole story," he admits quietly. "but there was some huge scandal with her district partner, Shallow. Or maybe his name was Echo? I can't remember it all, but it was a huge deal back then."

"Oh, yeah. I remember now," I answer. As soon as silence begins to stretch between us again, I blurt out, "I've heard of you!"

"Huh? What?" Monk asks, looking surprised. "You've heard of me?...how so?"

"It was a big deal when you were found too," I reply, feeling slightly sheepish. "My family owns an orphanage. Stories as to where you came from were flying wild, practically bouncing from the ceiling. Most of them were totally ridiculous though."

"Oh?" Monk asks, sounding genuinely curious. "…like what?"

"One kid thought you might be an alien," I say, inclining my head slightly. "Another thought you came from the Capitol. A third thought you were faking it. Then were the three girls who were sure you were mermaid from 4…" I trail off, laughing a little and shaking my head.

"Huh," Monk says, staring off into space for so long I was beginning to wonder if he'd died when he finally starts to speak again. "I like the mermaid one. That would be a very interesting origin story."

A louder laugh spills out of my mouth. "That would be hilarious! Maybe the arena will be filled with water, and then your mermaid powers will come out!"

"Heh…yeah…" Monk's face falls when I mention the arena. "the Games…"

I look at him sympathetically. "I get it. I know how you feel. And I'm not about to fault you for it."

He looks up, a small pocket of hope in his deadened eyes. "I know I'm going to die. But…maybe it would be easier with someone by my side?"

It takes a moment for me to realize what he's saying. "Wait, what?"

"I-I don't mean—don't f-feel—I just thought—" Monk stammers, his face flushes as he looks down at his lap.

"No! That's not it," I say quickly. "I'm just surprised that you'd want me as your ally."

"Yeah…" Monk mumbles.

I smile slightly. "Of course I'll be your ally, Monk. I just hope you can handle some unchecked anger issues." I laugh like it's a great joke, but I really hope he can. I don't want to scare him. He seems like someone who could get scared from anger like mine. Sometimes I just can't keep it reined in though…

"Yeah…" Monk says again. "I think I c-can."

"Good!" I exclaim. Monk jumps, looking up suddenly. "I can see this as the start of a great new friendship!" I laugh, trying to ignore how slightly hysterical I sound.

And I convince myself that when I win, I won't turn out like Macy Barker. I'm not going to be freaking out whenever I walk into certain rooms. I'm going to be just fine, even if it means Monk has to die.

_Carter Sykes, 18_

_District 8 Male_

A mindless show from the Capitol buzzes in the background of my room as I lay draped across my bed. Credits scroll across the screen as I stare at it with glazed over eyes. _Fantastica Dapino. Dacia Petra. Alexandriana Mercius. Charius Totem. Ana Olympus. _I let out a snort at the last one. So many people with insane names that I can never imagine giving to a child, and then there's just someone named Ana.

My room is completely dark aside from the light the T.V. casts on my face. I've been laying here for almost three hours by now, and I just can't be bothered to get up and turn on a light. What's the point? I may as well get used to being in the dark, since soon I'll be surrounded by black forever.

Travers told me not to lose hope. I've always tried to be optimistic, but I've never had something like this happen before. I've hardly ever faced tragedy like this, and I guess I'm just not mentally equipped for it.

"Oh, Clarion! Oh, Clarion! This truly is the best day of my life."

I roll my eyes at whatever ridiculous movie is currently playing on the T.V. It talks about how amazing the Capitol is every other sentence, has no real storyline or characters, and is doing nothing to ease my sorrows. I thought maybe watching something low-budget and terribly put together could be amusing, but all it makes me think is that this could be the last movie I ever watch.

"Isn't the sunset beautiful, Rosabella? Have you ever seen so many gorgeous colors?"

_Ha,_ I think. _Where'd the sunset come from? They were in a basement with no windows ten seconds ago. _

The screen suddenly goes black, making me bolt upright. Did the power go out? Is that a thing that can happen on trains? Are we going to be stuck?

"THIS IS MANDATORY VIEWING," the T.V. announces in a robotic voice. I jump as the screen lights up with two Capitol newscasters. One sports long, bright yellow hair and golden clothing. The other has rainbow hair and blue skin. I've always liked eccentric clothes, but this is over the top, even for me.

"Hello, people of Panem," Yellow says in a sad voice that does not at all agree with her outfit choices. "Tonight, we bring you news that saddens us all. Four hours ago, our beloved President, Etta Snow, passed away after suffering a stroke."

I gasp, but not from shock or sadness. I gasp because this could mean the Games will be called off. I gasp because this means I could home. Even if it lasts a few months before they drag us back and continue the Games, I will take any time I can get. If I can get even a few weeks, hell, even a few more days, I will be grateful. Maybe to some it would be longer to spend with my death hanging over my head, but it wouldn't be to me.

"Interim President, Graciela Purdue, former Vice President of Panem, has announced that even in light of this saddening event, the Games will go on as usual."

The picture cuts to a slightly blurry video of Purdue, standing at Snow's podium above the City Circle. "Even in the wake of this, we already have twenty-four contestants on their way to the Capitol as we speak. We cannot send them home empty-handed. Panem needs a source of happiness and excitement in this trying time, and the Hunger Games is a wonderful way to go about it."

Yellow and Rainbow begin to speak again, but I tune out, mulling over what Purdue said. _The Hunger Games are a source of happiness and excitement._ I've never heard a bigger lie in my entire life. Maybe that is true in the Capitol. But to the districts…

What is wrong with me? I've always known that one day I'd die. But I always refused to think about it. After all, it was so long away. Now I can't stop thinking about it. I'm already going insane. This shouldn't be so…so…so mentally damaging!

It's just weird to think that this time yesterday, I still had my whole life ahead of me. I wasn't going to be dead in a week. I had so long to live, and now I don't.

I haven't even entered the Games yet, and I'm already freaking out.

_Yama Oyeyemi, 14_

_District 11 Male_

Late at night has never been my favorite time. Especially on a night like this, when no stars are visible, only gray clouds, no constellations or moons to be seen. It's worse tonight, as on top of everything, Panem just lost its President.

Some people would say that Snow was a terrible person who deserved to die. And maybe she was. But she still died. And even the worst of people deserve to be mourned, no matter what they did in their life. Many people across the districts probably wouldn't agree with that statement. There are probably people partying right now. I can't party, even over the death of someone like Etta Snow. I just…can't do it.

I glance at the clock. _1:03 A.M. _I heave a sigh and glance at Brice and Jayanne across the room. Jayanne's head is lolled against the back of the couch she sits on, but Brice looks wide awake. All three of us were asleep, until we were rudely awakened by the announcement of Snow's death and the continuation of the Games.

Brice had burst into my room and asked if I'd seen the announcement. The three of us had converged in the dining room, camping out on the couches until we manage to fall asleep.

I've always heard that things seem worse at night. That you should never make a decision at night. And my situation _does_ seem much more hopeless now that sun has disappeared. Because, yeah, I'm still going to go into the Games. But it's not like I can change that. And I'm not going to sit around and just wait for death to claim me. I may be deaf, but that's not going to count me out of the running.

My eyes wander to Jayanne's sleeping form. Being almost nine months pregnant probably does count her out. I let out another sigh and look down at my lap, unable to keep looking at Jayanne and knowing she's as good as dead. She, and the unborn child she carries.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. I can't keep thinking these things. I continue to sit in my chair, my eyes and head darting around the room, fidgeting in place until I can't take it anymore and jump to my feet.

Brice's mouth opens, his lips moving silently as I force myself to read his lips. _Hey, where are you going?_

I sign an answer quickly, forgetting that Brice doesn't know sign language. _Taking a walk. _

The next car is half hallway, half actual rooms. I slowly make my way down the corridor, my bare feet sinking dejectedly into the worn carpet. Normally I like peacefulness. The tranquility of most moments are calming, sweet. Something I enjoy. But I just can't be in the same room as Jayanne right now. I can't handle those thoughts. I've never been through something like before.

But I've always seen myself as fairly selfless. I would rather me be here than Mahmud, Seraphina, Hana, Yuki, Issa…I would be here over most anyone in 11. If I'm suffering in the arena, at least it means my family and friends are safe at home. I'm already convincing myself that I'm suffering, and the arena is still days away.

I'm never going to get home if I keep this mentality. I have to be optimistic! I have to keep my head, and then I'll go from there. I clench my left fist and turn around, walking back into the train car where Brice and Jayanne are.

Brice looks up and raises his eyebrows. _Oh hi. What brings you back here?_

I sit back down. _Can we talk about the Games? Like, now?_

Brice's face contorts in confusion. _I don't understand sign language, Yama. Can I get paper or something?_

As I nod and watch Brice leave the room, I realize that Brice won the Games. He killed people. And he's still just fine. I know some Victors are really messed up. But Brice still seems fine. Maybe he really can help me get back to 11. He was fourteen when he won. Sure, he wasn't deaf, but I know how to deal with it. It's just how it's always been, and being this way isn't going to make me lay down on the ground and wait for someone to come slit my throat. Maybe, in order to do this properly, I will need to toughen up. But I think I can handle that. Maybe I do have a shot after all.

**A/N: Yay, another chapter over and done with! **

**I don't like how Yama's POV turned out, but even as I read back through it, I just couldn't pin down exactly why I didn't like it. I felt like he was narrating way different than he had been in his intro? **

**1\. Will Clash take Money's advice to heart?**

**2\. Do you like Monk and Vanye as allies?**

**3\. Will Carter pick himself up before the Games?**

**4\. If one of these tributes were to win, who would you prefer?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: if you could dis-invent something, what would it be?**

**My answer: how about mint? I hate that stuff. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

**Bloodbath Countdown: Eleven chapters**


	19. Chariot Parade

_Macy Barker, 13_

_Victor of the 150__th__ Annual Hunger Games_

Oh, I am going to commit murder tonight.

I waltzed right into that train like a complete and total idiot, not expecting any of what happened next.

Because there he was. The face of my dead best friend staring back at me with wide, deadened eyes. He just looked so hopeless that Larken had to physically restrain me from hugging him immediately.

And that is when I knew he really would have been better off dead.

I feel bad, now, since after my freak out, I haven't even spoken to Vanye. I hid in my room all of yesterday, didn't sleep a wink last night, and now would rather be anywhere but here. Other Victors buzz with conversation around me, but I haven't said a word. Kasumi keeps trying to strike up some sort of conversation with me, but I can't be bothered to return her attempts right now. Larken keeps throwing me concerned looks over his shoulder in the middle of his conversation with Koren and Travers.

Even a whole year later, I'm still slightly confused by Larken's attitude toward me. Before I won, he was cold and downright rude toward me and…him. But the moment I came out of the arena alive, he changed. A lot. He is sort of a mama bear now—which is great and all, but with both him and Cypress constantly bearing down on my shoulders, not to mention Holland and Mabel…sometimes I just want to sink into the couch cushions and never come out.

I look up when Larken taps my shoulder. "It's starting, Mace."

"Oh," I say, looking dejectedly at the District 1 chariot. "Okay."

Speaking of which, District 1 are sprayed completely golden and laden down with silver necklaces and bracelets and jewelry of all kinds. Fragrance has a look of slight anger on her face, her smile clearly forced. Clash isn't smiling at all. He just continues to stare forward, not acknowledging the crowd in the slightest.

"So overused," I hear Money comment to Varen, pointedly ignoring Peridot for whatever reason. I'm sure there's tons of Victor drama that I don't want to get wrapped up in which would explain why Money isn't talking to Peridot. "Can't these stylists think of something original?"

"They look good, Money," Peridot growls. "Be grateful."

I can practically hear Money's eyeroll from here.

District 2's chariot pulls out a few moments later. Adrian is—unsurprisingly, according to Varen—shirtless, showing off his lovely chiseled abs to all of Panem. He holds a shield and a short sword, with a short skirt-like armor piece sparsely covering his…parts. Guadalupe, on the other hand, looks beyond uncomfortable. I hear Varen tell Money that their stylists really should have coordinated better.

Guadalupe wears a black cloak and is struggling to take it off, glancing around nervously at the cheering crowds. Finally she rips the cape off, sending golden powder spewing everywhere. She seems to kind of fold in on herself in her new outfit, a set of armor that wouldn't be useful at all in real combat, seeing as it shows off a lot of her…ehm, cleavage.

"That's good," I hear Hestia mumble in the row in front of me.

A few moments later, District 3 rolls out of the stables. I take it that Delta and Achilles's stylists coordinated better than Adrian and Guadalupe's, seeing as the pair are dressed in the same outfit. They both wear ripped black clothes, with half of their bodies painted metallic silver. I notice both of them have bright red contact lenses in their eyes—it stands out against their silvery skin. Achilles looks fairly confident and comfortable, but Delta seems unhappy.

"Cyborgs," Thalia whispers to Rocket. "Much better than last year."

Rocket nods in reply.

Arthur and Marina are dressed as pirates, with white flouncy shirts and poufy brown pants. Marina is holding a hook in each hand and is waving them exuberantly. Arthur holds one to match, as well as a curvy cutlass which he swings jokingly through the air, saying, "Argh!" over and over again. After a moment or two, Marina joins in. Then her face lights up and she takes off her eyepatch, putting it over Arthur's other eye. Arthur laughs even harder and yells even louder.

Chance and Alec, seated directly in front of me, are whispering under their breaths to each other. I can only eavesdrop on snippets on their conversation (it's not like I want to, anyway.) "They're funny," Chance says. Alec instantly agrees with that. "The crowd seems to like them, a lot."

The first thing I notice when District 5 appears is how…tired, Hydra looks. She kind of sways where she stands, looking around with glazed and half-closed eyes. Connor keeps throwing nervous looks at her, but she doesn't appear to be very aware of anything at the moment.

She and Connor are dressed tesla coils, with electricity crackling over their heads. Only after one particularly bright snap do I notice the sparsely-concealed bruises around Connor's neck. Hand prints. Why wouldn't they cover those up? It's not hard, and it would barely take a minute to cake makeup on his neck.

Warren and Mercy are dressed as black dragons. I suppose it makes sense, considering Mercy's background, and dragons can fly, but most people in Panem don't exactly use dragons as modes of transport. It would be fun, though. If not a little terrifying, but I've long since moved past being afraid of things like heights.

"Hm, they look pretty good," Dixie comments to Kasumi beside me. "An interesting costume choice as well; it's definitely noticeable."

Kasumi nods and turns to me. "What do you think of them, Macy?"

I shrug a little. "I don't know. They're not my tributes."

"You're still allowed to have opinions," Kasumi says, sounding slightly frustrated. With me or with her tributes or with her tributes' stylists, I will never know.

At long last, Vanye and Monk come wheeling out of the stables, dressed in large bear suits. Both of them look uncomfortable and hot. And I thought I got it bad last year.

Beside me, Larken bursts out laughing. I glance at him oddly with my brows furrowed.

"It's just the worst thing I've seen my tributes in in years. It's just hilarious that their stylists thought that that was a good idea!" He continues to laugh without paying me any second thought. I turn back to the chariots, trying to ignore Larken's laughter. It is pretty funny, though.

A few moments later, District 8 comes out of the stables. Carter and Fulmina wear matching purple outfits, made from a strange patchwork print. It makes me think of Avia and Alby.

Carter is grinning from ear-to-ear, but I can't help but notice how forced the smile looks. Fulmina, on the other hand, is completely stoic, staring ahead with practically unseeing eyes. Carter turns to her, apparently trying to get her to smile. Fulmina asks him a question. Something lights up in his eyes when he opens his mouth to answer, but over the cheering of the crowd I have no clue what they're saying.

Oh well. Carter can be as happy as he wants to be. He's not my tribute. Not my tribute, not my problem. At least, that's Larken's policy.

District 9 quickly follows, drawing my attention from the pair from 8's conversation. The first thing I notice is that Rylan appears to be chewing. Then it hits me: their bread costumes are edible, and Rylan is eating some of it. He turns to Flourish and offers her a chuck of bread, but Flourish looks absolutely disgusted by his gesture. She shoves his hand away and crosses her arms, turning to look out at the crowd. Rylan seems completely dumfounded, and after a moment he shoves the piece of bread into his mouth.

A small laugh comes out of my mouth as I shake my head at their antics. A few seats down, Gracyn and Iara are laughing together. "Oh, Rylan is so funny," Gracyn says, holding onto Iara's shoulder as they continue to laugh.

I can't believe they're laughing at them. Do they not realize that Flourish and Rylan will most likely be dead in a few days? Do they not realize that maybe it's funny to them, but to Flourish and Rylan it's life and death? Do they not realize that Flourish and Rylan can likely see them laughing at their attempts to gain sponsors?

Larken glances at me from the corner of his eye as District 10 pulls out of the stables. Shawn and Joaquin are dressed as outlaws. They sport holsters around their waists, and Joaquin points the fake musket at random people in the crowd. Shawn just stares forward with empty eyes, unseeing and unfeeling.

Celinda's words are slightly slurred when she says, "They look funny."

"You've been drinking again," Rhett says accusingly, angrily.

"So what if I have?"

"Dammit Celinda, we're supposed to be mentoring!"

Celinda just laughs in reply to his anger. "Aw come on, they're hopeless anyway."

I don't catch the rest as the crowd begins to roar again in reply to District 11's appearance. Yama and Jayanne wear brown armor, with Jayanne's accommodated for her pregnant stomach. Rolling off their shoulders are capes covered in bird feathers—feathers I would sincerely hope are fake, but knowing the Capitol they never would be—which flutter in the wind and flop around behind them. Yama is grinning, and Jayanne's smile is tentative at best.

Finally, at long last, District 12 comes out to bring up the rear. Melissandre definitely looks better than Daniel, despite being dressed in virtually the same thing—a white dress and suit, respectively, with their arms and any bare skin caked with coal dust. It's even sprinkled in their hair. Daniel sneezes like a kitten, which elicits many _aws_ from the audience.

Was I really like him once? Did I really once stand in the same place as him, dressed in a ridiculous outfit and being scrutinized by an entire nation? At least I wasn't alone in my suffering like Daniel is—I was surrounded by suffering twelve-year-olds, but he is all alone. I can't imagine being in his shoes, so ignorant of what I was about to go through. I know that Daniel's likelihood of survival is slim at best—there's no way he'd ever beat someone like Adrian or Clash in a fight—and that makes it even worse.

I sigh as Graciela greets the crowds and welcomes the tributes to the 151st Annual Hunger Games. The tributes disappear into the stables, and the crowd begins to shuffle around. I slowly follow Larken out of the stands, heading for the elevator to the Tribute Center.

We end up in an elevator with Koren, Travers, Dixie, Kasumi, Celinda and Rhett. Celinda is swaying a little bit, and keeps randomly giggling. Rhett is holding tightly to her shoulder, clearly to keep her standing and is looking forward with a very stoic look on his face. When he catches me staring, he just says, "Don't ask."

Kasumi and Dixie get off first, and then it's time for Larken and I to depart.

I'm not prepared to step back in here. I'm not prepared to see where…he stood, where he sat, where he slept and lived and breathed and laughed. I don't know if I can handle the stress. Seeing his face was bad enough. And that wasn't even him.

I stare at the open elevator doors for a moment before Larken grabs my hand and pulls me into the room. The first thing I see is his face, standing across the room against the wall, looking half asleep.

With tears in my eyes I slowly sink to the floor, letting go of Larken's hand. The sobs wrack through my body as the tears leak from my eyes, spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. They soak into the color of my shirt, but I don't care. How am I supposed to do this? I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't. I can't. I can't.

The elevator doors open and in waltz Vanye and Monk, the hoods of their bear costumes pulled off. Vanye's hair is a mess. Monk's entire face is covered with sweat.

Their conversation stutters to a halt when they see me on the floor, sobbing my little heart out with tears streaming down my face.

I really am a mess. And if he would have been better off dead, maybe I would have been to.

**A/N: It's time for your daily dose of Angst!Macy. **

**1\. Favorite chariot outfit?**

**2\. Least favorite?**

**3\. Is Macy a total mess?**

**I can't think of any other questions, rip. **

**Random Question of the Chapter: what's your favorite animal?**

**My answer: cats or owls. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

**Bloodbath countdown: ten chapters**

**-Amanda**


	20. The Dangers of Hot Tubs

_Warren Oto, 18_

_District 6 Male_

I shed the dragon costume as soon as I possibly can. Mercy already threw it at the wall around fifteen minutes ago—I could hear the telltale _thunks_. Honestly it doesn't surprise me—that thing was insanely itchy.

The T.V. drones on in front of me, the sounds of Orion Garnet and Alistair McKinley making commentary on each chariot becoming the only sound in the room. Kasumi is sitting behind me at the kitchen table, staring off into space with her hand clenched tightly around a plastic yellow cup. Dixie already disappeared into her room. And Panem only knows what Mercy is up to. If there was a way to find out without getting myself potentially maimed, I still wouldn't. There's only so many things that she could be doing in there, anyway. Nothing she can kill, to my knowledge, so that's good enough for me.

After a while, my eyelids start to feel heavy, and my head lolls backward against the couch, leaving me to slowly drift off to sleep.

I wake with a start to a darkened room, the T.V. still droning on in front of me, now playing a Capitol soap opera. The two characters on screen, Clarion and Rosabella, are gushing about some sunset.

Well aware of the crick in my neck, I slowly get to my feet, planning to go into my bedroom. Then I notice Kasumi, still seated at the table in basically the same position I left her in. Her hand remains clenched around her cup. It's got to be cramped beyond belief by now.

I tentatively begin to walk over to her. I begin to open my mouth to ask her why she's still up when she interrupts me.

"Answer me something, Warren," Kasumi says, holding her head up by her elbows, leaning on the table. I throw her an odd look before she continues. "You're not friends with Mercy. Only an idiot wouldn't see it. What is your real story? Why did you _really_ volunteer?"

I bite my lip, contemplating how I'm supposed to answer this. I can't tell her the truth… can I? "I… can't tell you."

Kasumi presses her lips together and looks away for a moment. "I haven't been doing this for long. Dixie says not to get attached, but I like you. The second District 6 volunteer in history, and you're not stupid."

At that, I avert my eyes. "Flattery doesn't suit you."

"It's not flattery," Kasumi says firmly. "I care about my tributes. I cared about Tesla, and I care about you. I want my tributes to succeed. But I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

I don't know how to answer this. I don't know how to answer any of Kasumi's questions. This is dangerous territory. I have to tread lightly. I want to trust Kasumi. I want to be able to tell her. It's… it's not like Salvo will ever know. But I've always said I never break promises, even if it's to a man like Salvo Mitsui, and this will not be the one time it happens. "I guess I won't take your help then."

Kasumi's nostrils flare and she angrily gets to her feet. "Fine. I won't help you then. Good luck surviving the arena without my help." She turns and storms out of the room, slamming her bedroom door with one last angry glare over her shoulder at me.

For a few minutes, I don't move. The Capitol still moves on around me, but I just feel… numb. Like I just can't make myself move.

Suddenly I get to my feet and go out onto the balcony. I want to see the stars. There were stars on the train, when we were passing through one of the rural districts. I had never seen the stars before then. When I look up, I realize that there are no stars in the Capitol. At least, we can't see them. There's too much light pollution. It's different than in 6. In 6 there is too much air pollution. The Capitol is just too bright.

"What are you doing?" The voice that comes from the door is sharp and almost condescending. Immediately I place who it is. "It's the middle of the night. Don't you want to, oh, I don't know, _sleep_?"

"Not right now," I say softly. "I wanted to see the stars."

"We're in the Capitol, dipshit. The stars aren't visible here," Mercy says in a voice that indicates it should have been obvious.

"I know," I whisper. I still haven't turned around. I don't feel like facing her right now. Not after everything she has done. I could say it's all her fault. And while it is, even I can't make myself hate Mercy enough to randomly blurt that out. Maybe it would be different under different circumstances. But I have my doubts. "Stars are cool."

"Oh, so you're one of _those _people," Mercy snarks, her voice dripping with contempt.

"One of 'those people'?" I repeat, trying to figure out what she means. There are a lot of 'those people' that she could be talking about. I'm sure she's being purposefully vague just to fuck with me, but still. It does make me wonder if I can make myself hate her.

"Stargazers. Dreamers. Philosophers. People who think the stars are _deep_. They're just stars. They're not even all that pretty," Mercy explains impatiently, rolling her eyes. "And, by the looks of it, you're also not very smart. You know, my father has many boys of Reaping age on a tether. I'll never know why he chose you, when he could have chosen someone with any level of intelligence, ability to fight, ability to lie through your teeth. See, you don't have any of those qualities. Maybe you were expendable. But that doesn't explain why he chose _you _to be my protector. It just doesn't compute."

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't list off all the qualities I don't have right now," I mumble, sticking my hands in my pockets.

"Well, sucks to be you, bitch," Mercy growls. "Suck it up, buttercup."

I look up and turn around. Those are the last words I ever expected to hear out of Mercy Mitsui's mouth. _Suck it up, Buttercup_. It sounds like something a nine-year-old might say. It sounds like something Tabitha might have said, before Mercy. "What?"

"You heard me," Mercy says, smirking maliciously. "You better suck it up, Oto, or else we're going to have some big problems. I'm sure you remember the deal…?"

"Of course I do," I reply quietly, turning back around and resting my hands on the railing. "I couldn't forget it if I wanted to."

It _is_ the reason I'm here.

"Perfect!" Mercy says with a faux-perky voice. "Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful, _best friend_."

I nod quickly and turn back around. "Best friend."

She leans forward, placing a finger under my chin and lifting my head up. "And you better not forget it."

"You don't have to tell me twice," I mumble. I wish I didn't fear Mercy. I wish I could make myself hate her. And maybe I should hate her. But I've never truly hated anybody, and this will not be the first time I do.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_District 4 Male_

"Ahhh," Marina sighs contentedly as she sinks deeper into the hot tub. After a moment she reopens her eyes and looks up at me. "What's wrong, Arthur? Don't you want to get in too?"

"Er—ehm—" I stammer. "Um—no, I don't."

Marina looks at me oddly. "Oooh-kay," she says slowly. "You know, Arthur, I had my best friend get eaten by a shark because of my mistakes. You're not alone in hating water."

"Where did you ever get that idea?" I say, way too loudly. "I—I love water!" Quickly, I sit my arm into the hot tub. "See? I love water! Definitely not afraid of it or anything. Haha."

"Uh…right," Marina says. "Anyways, ever since that day, I haven't been the biggest fan of water either. But you can trust me when I say the hot tub is not going to swallow you, and as long as you don't fall asleep you should be just fine."

I look nervously at the inky black water. The vibrant, colorful lights of the Capitol reflect off the slightly choppy surface, but below is just a dark abyss…how deep is it? Can I stand up in it? Marina is sitting down in it, and her neck isn't even submerged…and I'm taller than Marina…I could totally stand up in it.

"Promise it's not going to eat you," Marina says, clearly only half-joking. "Honest." She kicks up her legs, splashing me slightly in the face.

"I—uh, don't have a swimsuit," I say in a last ditch attempt to convince Marina that I really, really don't want to get in the hot tub. Can't she just see that? I'm supposed to be over this fear, yeah, but I guess in the stress of the past day, it's made everything feel blown out of proportion.

"Check your dresser," Marina says, idly picking at one of her nails. "Should be in the top drawer."

"Oh…okay," I say, turning around and slowly making my way across the balcony with my hands in my pockets. I could just lock myself in my room. But…I don't want to betray Marina like that, and I need to face this fear if I've ever going to get out of the arena alive. And…okay, maybe I want to be able to say I got in a hot tub before I die.

"Hey, kid," Chance says as I pass in front of the T.V. "You doing okay? You look kind of pale."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply as calmly as I can. "Just going to get in the hot tub with Marina."

"Ah, okay," Chance says, taking a swig of whatever beverage he has in his hand. Alec elbows him. "What?"

"Arthur, are you sure you want to?" Alec asks.

"Want to what?" I ask, feigning confusion. I am not about to have this conversation with two random guys I just met.

"Get in the water," answers Alec. "We know you're…"

"Oh, that?" I say with a fake-sounding laugh. "That's no problem. Yeah, don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"Alright…" Alec trails off. "If you're sure."

I laugh again before ducking into my bedroom to change. The moment I close my door, the smile drops from my face, replaced by a much more stoic expression. _The hot tub is not going to kill you. The hot tub is _not_ going to kill you. Come on, Arthur! You're going to be facing much worse things in less than a week! You can handle sitting in a hot tub with Marina. _

As I pull on swim shorts, I ball my fist at my side. Yes, surely I can sit in a hot tub for fifteen minutes without dying in some sort of horrific way. I won't be able to say the same thing in a few days, but for now, I just need to relax.

When I re-emerge from my room in a swimsuit, I feel much more confident. This is my time to relax. I'm not going to be relaxing in a few days. I need to get every bit of it that I can in now, while I don't have to constantly look over my shoulder in panic of being suddenly stabbed.

I nervously slide my feet into the hot tub, letting the warm water wash over my skin. Marina grins at me. "I see you've finally decided to join me!"

"What do you mean, finally?" I ask as I slide deeper into the water. Ahhh, this feels so good.

"You were gone for fifteen minutes, Arthur. I really need to pee, but I didn't want you to be out here alone."

"I swear to Panem, if you peed in the hot tub…!" I joke.

"Oh no, but thanks for the idea," Marina replies teasingly. "I can make the water warmer, if it's too cold for you."

"No, no, it's good," I say, holding my hands up in a _stop_ position. "Much warmer than any water I've ever been in."

"Exactly. Seeing as the hottest water I've ever been in is the bath, this is a definite improvement," Marina agrees, nodding and shifting her position.

_It's only a temporary improvement since you're in the Capitol and about to—_I cut off the voice before it can even finish its pessimistic spiel.

_Sorry, but this is one place I refuse to let those thoughts follow me. I'm here to relax, not worry about the inevitability of death. _

I start to sink deeper into the water when suddenly my foot slips against the bottom of the tub, sending me careening toward the surface. My head plunges underneath the water, and I flail wildly for a moment before pulling my head out of the water. Breathing hard, I look to Marina, who wears a look of surprise and concern on her face.

"Are you…are you okay?" she asks tentatively.

In reply, I start to shake my head like a dog, sending water droplets flying everywhere. "Oh, yeah. I'm good."

"I guess the hot tub really _did_ try to eat you…" Marina whispers breathlessly. "Wow, sorry about that. You're sure you're okay, though?"

"_Yes_," I say firmly. "Marina, I'm fine. Just a little shaken up, I guess. But I promise to make a full recovery. I think I'll pull through."

And we laugh for a while before deciding to get out. As we walk through the living room wrapped in towels, Chance looks up from flipping through channels on the T.V. "Woah, what happened to you?" he asks, looking at my head, which continues to drip water onto the precious wooden floors.

"Almost drowned," I say nonchalantly.

"Oh. Cool." And Chance goes back to his channel surfing, with Alec's head resting on his lap.

I shake my head, laughing as I follow Marina down the hall to our rooms, barely even noticing the typo on the door. _Artur Singlewave. _

**A/N: My babies Arthur and Warren are just very easy to write. That's why I got this chapter out so quickly. **

**1\. Is Warren justified in refusing Kasumi's help?**

**2\. Is Arthur truly over his fear of water, or will it resurface later?**

**3\. Which one of these tributes would you prefer to win?**

**4\. Is Chance or Kasumi a better mentor?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: have you ever been in a hot tub?**

**My answer: yeah. My family actually owns a hot tub. It's really cool to be in it when it's snowing. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Siblings?: **_**Warren (D6M), Mercy (D6F)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

**Next up is training day one, with a whole bunch of tribute POVs I don't really want to list right now. **

**Bloodbath Countdown: nine chapters. **

**-Amanda**


	21. Training Day One

_Clash Winston, 18_

_District 1 Male_

This is not going to go well. I'm not cut out to be a leader. But…it's the only thing I've got. I could always _not_ do this…Money said once I become the leader there's no going back…do I really want this?

If it's the only way to win…

Then yes.

If it's the best shot I've got…

What choice do I have?

Fragrance and I are standing shoulder to shoulder in the corner of the elevator. We were the last ones picked up in an elevator that was already way too full in the first place. Districts 12, 9, 7, 6, 4 and of course, us, are crammed in one small, cylindrical space. Surely this exceeds to max occupancy.

We depart from the elevator in our pairs, Fragrance and I managing to escape relatively quickly.

District 4 lead us to District 2. I look for Achilles, and find him standing awkwardly beside his district partner below the Gamemakers' balcony. I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Fragrance decides to make it easy for me. "So, first off, we need to choose a leader," she says casually.

"How about we vote?" I propose.

My eyes jump from person to person, and that's when I notice Guadalupe standing a few feet away from us with her back turned. What is she doing? Does she not want to be in the Career Pack? Makes my job easier, I guess.

"Well, I'll vote for Clash," Fragrance says. "He's the only person I know anyway."

"I'll vote for Arthur," Marina says. Arthur grins at her.

"I'll vote for Clash as well," Arthur says. "Since I'm assuming we can't vote for ourselves!" Both he and Marina start to laugh after that.

I swallow and look to Adrian. "I'll go for Clash," he says after a moment.

"Not that it will matter, but I'll vote for Arthur," I declare. _There's no going back now. You're the leader. You're going to have to follow Money's path. Is this really what you want? _

_What choice do I have? It's either this or die. _

"Alright then," I say slowly. "So…I say we don't let Guadalupe into the alliance."

"What?" Marina demands. "Why?"

_Crap. _"I don't believe her abilities will be beneficial to our alliance." _Yes, that sounds good. Professional, leader-like. Keep doing that. _

"And why ever not?" Marina asks, taking an angry step forward. "Why would Guadalupe be any less use to us than, say, Adrian?"

"Guys, we don't need to—" Arthur begins, standing between Marina and I putting out his hands.

I push Arthur out of the way. "Stay out of this, Arthur." I turn to Marina and argue back, "You've seen her at the Reapings. She's practically useless." _But she isn't,_ a small voice in my head says. _You have no reason to kick her out—_

_Shut up, _I tell the voice. _This is the best way to go about it. Like it or leave. _

"Oh, really now?" Fragrance interjects, talking right over Marina's continued protests. "I don't think Guadalupe is the useless one in this equation. Personally, I think it's _you_, Clash. I retract my vote for you as our leader. Actually, you know what? I retract myself from this alliance. Goodbye."

Fragrance turns around and walks confidently over to Guadalupe, suggesting the pair of them go over to one of the weapons stations.

"You know what? I think I'll join them," Marina says angrily. And she too turns on her heels and stalks pompously over to Fragrance and Guadalupe. The trio of girls head over to a survival station, paying us no second thought as they talk.

Alarm bells start ringing in my head. _This was a mistake, this was a mistake, this was a huge, huge mistake—_plays over and over again in my head like a broken record. I have the urge to run after the girls and beg for forgiveness, but Money's words on the train are the only thing that stop me from going after them.

"_Being nice. Being selfless. Being empathetic. Check all that at the door." _

Money is right. Of course he knows what he's talking about. He did win the Hunger Games, after all. I need to switch it off. I need to be a tribute, a Victor, not a person. 

"What just happened?" Arthur says after a moment, saying what all three of us are clearly thinking.

Adrian shakes his head and says, "I think the Career Pack just split."

"Oh, don't worry," I say off-handedly. "they'll come crawling back eventually when they realize that it was just in the heat of the moment. They'll realize what a stupid idea it was, and they'll be back, begging for our forgiveness."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Arthur admits.

"Let's go talk to the boy from 3. Maybe he'll be interested in being loyal," I say snidely.

Where is this anger coming from? It's just like on the train. I've never liked arguments, yet here I am, starting them. I've never liked being a leader, yet here I am, leading the Careers—or half of them, at least. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. But there is no going back now.

_Fulmina Athnan, 17_

_District 8 Female_

I watched the entire exchange between the Careers from above. Literally. They were standing under the ropes course, which is where I currently remain sitting, draped out across the ropes without a care in the world.

After the Careers violently shot themselves in the feet, I lost all interest I had in joining them. Even before, it was a slim chance that I would actually go for it. The Careers are often a sizzling pot of lava, one degree of heat away from boiling over and killing everyone.

Perhaps that is the wrong analogy, but that is what I am going to go with.

I spent most of last night scoping out the best allies, and so far have come up mostly empty-handed. Melissandre turned down my proposition when I caught her after she came out of the elevator. She was the only one I really thought might work out, for both of us. I may have asked Jayanne if it weren't for her…previous inhabitations, but I don't feel confident enough in my abilities that I could…accurately with deal with those problems without getting her killed. I considered Flourish for a short time, but inevitably decided against it. That didn't leave me with many options left.

So perhaps I will be playing a solo game. Besides, I have seen my mother's Games. She was in the second largest alliance, and all of them died in front of her. I don't want that to happen to me. Maybe it's selfish, but I am also just looking out for my own sanity, which I would prefer to keep a hold on, thank you very much.

I've seen many a great tribute fall to their own lack of sanity, and I am not keen on joining their ranks. No, I'd like to stay as sane as one can be in the Hunger Games if possible.

One thing I have always found strange about my mother's training is that while she prepared me for the physical aspects of the Games, she never once mentioned the toll it will take on my mental state. No one comes out of the Games as the same person they were when they went in; I know this first hand. Some people change for the better, like Aces Chaney. Others change for the worst, like Juniper Arragarra. But at least she was mostly crazy before the Games. It's a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

Needless to say, I like my sanity exactly where it's at, and would prefer that it not get knocked off its lovely marble pedestal. Maybe the pedestal will get a few cracks, but I've always thought of myself as mentally stable enough to keep it from keeling over and letting me go insane.

I stretch out further on the ropes, letting my head fall through one of the many holes and hang limp over the tributes below me. I shut my eyes, feeling about as content with this situation as I possibly can be. Yes, I'm about to go into the Hunger Games. Yes, I may die. Yes, I may go insane. Yes, I'm going in without any help. No allies, no mentors, just me, my training and my brain. Yes, maybe I'm totally screwed. Yes, I should not think like this. Yes, I should think positively, look on the bright side, all that crap. Yes, I'm not.

But does that stop me from relaxing here, in the Training Center?

No.

_Connor Merlyn, 18_

_District 5 Male_

I rub the stick back and forth between my hands, doing my best to ignite a flame yet failing epically.

"You're going to need a bigger stick," the trainer advises.

"Where?" I ask, slightly impatiently. "There are no other sticks here."

"That sounds like a personal problem," the trainer snarks. "What are you going to do in the arena if there isn't a stick in your peripheral vision? Hm? What's that? Oh, yes. You're going to freeze death."

I get to my feet and walk away from the fire starting station, throwing down the sticks for good measure. The nerve of some people. I guess it isn't exactly surprising, since that trainer is a Capitolite. Most Capitolites I've come across in the past two days haven't exactly been the nicest people in the world, but this trainer definitely takes the cake.

As I stalk away from the station, I throw a look over my shoulder to see the pair from 6 talking to the trainer. _Good luck with that_, I think, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my training uniform. I look down at my shoes, trying to decide where to go now, when suddenly I bump into someone's shoulder, sending them sprawling toward the floor. "Oh!" I exclaim. "Sorry!"

Their back is emblazoned with a large _8_. Seeing as it's clearly not Fulmina, I would guess I just bumped into Carter. Better him than, say, Adrian.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Carter replies, slowly climbing to his feet. "At least nothing is broken."

I bark out a laugh, only to suddenly stop when I realize he isn't joking. "Broken bones would not be nice, would they?"

"Not now," Carter agrees emotionlessly. He stares at my shoes for a while before he says, "Not that broken bones are ever a good thing." I notice his cheeks seem kind of flushed.

"You look…feverish," I mumble, unsure of how to ask him what's making him embarrassed.

"Oh! I'm fine," Carter splutters, sending more heat to his cheeks. He fidgets with his hands nervously for a moment before he stammers, "Are you interested in allies?"

I'll admit I haven't really thought about alliances. All I know is that I definitely don't want one with Hydra, and probably Mercy as well—but Warren seems to have that well and truly covered. I still don't get what's going on there, but I've convinced myself not to dwell on it. I can't dwell on any of the other tributes. I have to focus on myself, even if that sounds resolutely selfish. If I start to find out what reason the other tributes have for going home, I'll feel less like I deserve to go home over them. Maybe I am not the best person in the world, and I'll admit that. But I have to allow myself a little pride, and little hope to return to Sabrina, Felix and Lucas.

"Yeah, sure," I say off-handedly, as if I am not terribly bothered by the thought of getting close to another tribute. It's dangerous territory; everyone knows that. Because only one of you gets out of the arena, and I'm not going to give myself the chance to get close to Carter. I can't let myself see the reasons he should live over me. "Allies sound good."

Carter breathes a sigh of relief. "Cool. Is there…there anyone else you want to invite?"

"No," I say without missing a beat. "This is good."

"Okay," Carter says, injecting fake happiness into his words. "It doesn't matter to me. What do you want to do?"

"I'm actually going to run to the bathroom," I say. Do I actually need to go to the bathroom? Only slightly. I just need a place where Carter isn't so I can think about this decision.

"Oh. Okay." Carter's face falls, like I just told him both of his parents had been murdered.

I sigh and walk as fast as I can without running out of the training center. As soon as the door swings shut behind me, I sink down the wall of the hallway, wondering what I've done to deserve…any of this. Well, not even just me. What has Carter done to deserve the Hunger Games? He seems like a good guy. Maybe a little over-enthusiastic, slightly…fake, but not a bad guy.

People like Hydra definitely deserve this. But myself, Carter, Warren, any of the tributes Reaped? What did we do to deserve to die in the Hunger Games? Maybe we did nothing, and it was just the luck of the draw. But I guess I've always thought the tributes must have done something wrong. That lasted until I was Reaped, of course. I don't think I've ever done anything wrong. I don't think I did anything to deserve the Hunger Games. I could be wrong. But in my opinion, I've been a pretty good person. Of course, all of that is going to be thrown out of the window as soon as I am forced to take someone's life.

_Marina Galindez, 17_

_District 4 Female_

"Maybe this was a mistake," Fragrance admits as she sits down at lunch. "Maybe we should go back to the boys."

"And admit we were wrong?" I ask. "Beg for forgiveness? Grovel at Clash's feet? Not over my cold, dead body."

"Jeez, fine. You don't need to go all water warrior on me."

"'Water warrior'?" I repeat. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well…you're from 4, so there's the water part. And you're a trained Academy volunteer, so there's the warrior part," Fragrance explains in a tone that indicates it should have been obvious. She is silent for a moment, staring down at her plate of food. "You know, I met Clash a few times back in 1. I don't know what changed between then and now."

"How long ago was that?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Oh, about three or four months ago. He was a totally different person. I just…don't know what came over him," Fragrance answers, taking a bite of her biscuit. "It's strange. I've been trying to understand it all morning, but it doesn't make sense. No one changes that quickly."

"Some people do," I say, shrugging.

"Hi," Guadalupe says as she slides into the seat beside Fragrance. "What are you talking about?"

"Clash," Fragrance answers, turning her nose up at the boys' table. Clash and Adrian aren't paying attention, and I notice they've managed to rope Achilles from 3 into Clash's loyal little posse.

That's when I notice that Arthur is staring, like, right at me. He's staring right over Clash's shoulder with a look like he's just been betrayed by the only person left in the world that he trusts.

Oh. That's because he has.

I quickly avert my gaze and shove food into my mouth, tuning back into Guadalupe and Fragrance's conversation.

"So, since the boys now have four members, I say we need to get a fourth tribute in our clique as well," Fragrance proposes.

"Please don't call us a clique," I say. "But yes, I agree. What do you think, Guadalupe?"

"Oh…I think that's a great idea," she mumbles.

"Cool. Who should we invite in?" Fragrance asks.

I survey the lunch tables. "I think we should look for a fourth girl. What do you guys think about that?"

"Sounds good to me," Fragrance agrees. Guadalupe nods. "Alright, how about…I don't know. Maybe Fulmina?"

"No. We don't want to associate with her," I reply. "How about…maybe, uhm…Melissandre?"

"I already saw her shoot down Fulmina's proposition of an alliance," Fragrance says. "I don't think that's going to work."

"What do you think, Guadalupe? Any suggestions?" I ask.

Guadalupe looks out across the other the tributes, seeming to be giving it a lot of thought. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and says in a slightly timid voice, "What about Flourish?"

"Hm," I say, considering it. "Sounds good to me. I saw her earlier at the archery station—she's got really good aim." I look to Fragrance.

"Sure," says Fragrance. "I ain't got any problems with it."

"Alright. Let's talk to her after lunch," I suggest.

"Okay," Guadalupe says. "But…we should have a back-up plan, right? If Flourish isn't interested?"

"Melissandre, then," I propose. "Unless anyone wants to ask Fulmina."

My options are met with silence. "Who else is there?" I ask after a moment. "It's either Flourish, Melissandre or Fulmina. Unless you want the pregnant girl or whatever is going on with Shawn. Or the crazy ones."

"Yeah, I guess that's as good as we're going to get," Fragrance agrees. "Flourish, then Melissandre. I say if neither of them are interested, we don't bother asking anyone else. No one else has anything good to offer us."

"Alright. It's settled then. We'll go find Flourish as soon as we get dismissed from lunch." I set down my fork and glass, feeling slightly more assured about everything. I know I made the right choice in abandoning Clash and his little posse. Clash was going to run the whole thing and leave the rest of us as his pawns, I can already tell. Fragrance and I will be better off here with Guadalupe, and hopefully Flourish.

That is one of the only things I am completely sure of.

_Daniel Hope, 12_

_District 12 Male_

I bounce back and forth on my heels as I follow Melissandre out of the cafeteria. I've spent my whole day climbing around the ropes course. Maybe it is the Hunger Games, but that doesn't mean I can't have fun while doing it. And maybe the rope course won't give me valuable skills, but no one has ever accused me of being responsible!

I continue to bounce around as I head back to the obstacle course. On my way, I spot the pregnant girl from 11, Jayanne, struggling to build a roof on her wooden shanty. A sympathetic smile spreads across my face as I head over to help her. "Hi!" I exclaim, waving enthusiastically at her.

She jumps, sending her barely structurally-sound roof tumbling inward. "Oh, hello there."

"Sorry," I mumble. "I'm Daniel!"

"I'm Jayanne." She smiles up at me, holding the branches in place. "What are you up to, Daniel?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I was going to go back to the obstacle course, but you looked really lonely and like you were having a hard time, so I came here instead."

"Aw, that's so sweet," Jayanne says cheerily. "You don't happen to know anything about building, do you? 'Cause I could really use some help right now." She barks out an airy laugh, shaking her head.

"I can always give it a try!" I kneel down beside her, reaching out and taking a few branches from her pile. "So is your baby a boy or a girl?"

As I place the logs on top of her walls, Jayanne smiles and says, "I don't know. Jiro and I wanted it to be a surprise. But I like to think it's a girl."

"Jiro?" I ask absently as I fasten one of the branches to her leaning wall.

"He's my husband. I didn't take his last name, at least not yet. I was planning to once I aged out of the Reapings…but clearly, a bit of a stopper was put in that plan," Jayanne explains. "I love him with all my heart. I'm really going to miss him when I'm gone."

"When you're gone?" I repeat. "What makes you think you're going to die?"

She looks at me oddly for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you think you have no chance?" I ask, my words slightly garbled from the stick I put in my mouth. "I don't think I've got the best chances, but even I have some hope left, right? And you do too."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Jayanne says regretfully. "You're completely able-bodied. I'm tied down by my child. Not that I would give her for anything—it's just that she's probably going to be the reason I die. I just don't want to drag her down with the ship. That's why I need to get to Day 3. She's due then. I don't know what will happen after I deliver her, but I have to get to Day 3." Jayanne's face is lit up by steely determination and her love for her child.

I shift my position nervously, busying my hands by securing more branches. "Maybe you'd like some help?"

She looks at me, confused, for a moment. "Oh! Allies! Yes, of course. I'd love that."

"Cool!" I exclaim, throwing my arms up. They catch on my carefully attached branches, sending them rocketing sky high. I curl my arms back to my chest and mumble, "Sorry about that."

"Oh, no worried, Daniel," Jayanne says, waving it away. "I'm just happy to have an ally."

"Ooh! Ooh! We should add Yama to our alliance!" I say excitedly.

"That's a wonderful idea," Jayanne agrees. "I'll ask him later tonight. Sound good?"

"Yep," I say, nodding. "You wanna go to the ropes course?" I jump to my feet without waiting for an answer.

"Um…" Jayanne says, her hands rolling over her pregnant stomach.

"Oh," I say.

"That's okay, Daniel. You go have fun."

"No, no, we'll go do something you can do too," I say, grabbing her hand and helping her to her feet. "Come on, let's go do water purifying or something."

Jayanne laughs and shakes her head at my enthusiasm.

_Melissandre Grey, 17_

_District 12 Female_

I've managed to convince myself that turning down Fulmina's alliance was a good choice. After all, I've seen her mother's Games, and I know that she was not supposed to win. I don't want to get wrapped up in all of that, especially since it will just diminish my chances of going home to Jaxson and Lyanna. I have to stay focused on the task at hand and not allow myself to get distracted.

I considered asking Flourish until she was roped into the Career drama, which, trust me, I don't want to be apart of. I don't know the whole story, but all I saw was a fight that led the Careers splitting early. Dangerous ground to tread, and I will gladly stay on the solid ground, thank you very much. At least the girls didn't ask me. I don't know if I could have turned them down like I did with Fulmina. Turning down three highly training, vicious pack dogs is a much worse idea than turning down Fulmina Athnan.

With my muscles straining, I reach out for the next bar. _Almost halfway there, Mel. You can get there. _

It's like the monkey bars. I don't remember them very well, but they were one of the few playground equipment items we had at school when I was little. I dropped out years ago, but I vaguely remember climbing onto the top of them and then getting stuck. The teacher slapped my hands with a ruler after I failed to escape. I didn't touch the monkey bars again.

Until now, of course. But this is under different circumstances. For one, if I were to walk up to the monkey bars in 12, I would probably be taller than them. For another, it's a long way down to the cold, unforgiving ground if I were to let go now, and I don't need any injuries. Anything would be a weakness at this point, and I need to keep my body in good shape for the Games. And, obviously, this is not a playground running rampant with small children. It's a training center before the Hunger Games.

I reach out for the next bar and pull my across. Just a few more bars to go. I can get there. I'll be damned if I give up right now. I quickly reach out for the next bar, then the next. I remain hanging there for a moment before I reach for the final one and pull myself onto the ledge. I lay there for a moment, giving my muscles a bit of time to relax and rest before I move onto the next obstacle.

After another few seconds I get to my feet and turn around to face my next challenge.

It's a rock climbing wall with no pieces sticking out to hold onto. The only things to hold onto are little indents in the stone.

I heave a sigh and step up the wall, slowly beginning to scale it. My muscles continue to burn as I climb higher and higher, shaking with exertion and exhaustion.

Suddenly my right foot slips out of its hold, sending my whole body out of whack. My left hand loses its grip as well, leaving me hanging by one hand with my body screaming at me to fix this. Everything hurts as I reach up with my left arm and grab a handhold. _Come on, Melissandre. If you can't even scale a little rock wall, how are you ever going to win the Hunger Games?_

Finally, _finally_, I reach the top. I collapse on the cold stone, breathing heavily but grinning from ear-to-ear. Yeah, I almost died, but I still made it the top and didn't go back down. If that's not persistence, I don't know what is.

I look up at the next obstacle, a rope course hanging at least fifteen feet over the other tributes' heads, and decide I've had enough for one day. Maybe tomorrow.

**A/N: I am an evil, evil person. I have been planning this for so long, and I am so happy to finally get to writing it. One day I was planning out deaths and just went…what if, the Careers…split up? And then I spent the next ten minutes cackling maniacally to myself. **

**1\. Will the girls crack and come back to Clash and friends?**

**2\. Which Career Pack do you prefer?**

**3\. Will Carter and Connor's alliance last?**

**4\. Was Melissandre right to turn down Fulmina's alliance? **

**Random Question of the Chapter: what's your favorite name?**

**My answer: that's hard to answer, since I love so many names. I have always loved the name Alex though, so I guess that's my answer. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Siblings?: **_**Warren (D6M), Mercy (D6F)**

_**C-Club: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Babysitter's Club: **_**Jayanne (D11F), Daniel (D12M)**

**Bloodbath Countdown: eight chapters. **

**-Amanda**


	22. Memories and Making Amends

_Monk Redwood, 15_

_District 7 Male_

A name.

I remember a _name_.

I've never done that before.

_Devlin. _

I don't know who Devlin is. Is it me? Is it the man from my dreams? I don't know. I don't know, and it's killing me. The worst part is that it's unlikely I'll ever get the gift of knowledge. I'll die with these fragments of memories floating around my head and never connecting correctly. They will continue to misshapenly stitch themselves together, tear themselves apart and then do it all over again as my mind falls to pieces at its very seams.

Maybe it's too late to save my mind. It started its descent into madness five years ago. Probably long before that, when I was just the silent boy on the floor in a pool of my own blood. Honestly, at this point, that would be preferable right now. At least I wouldn't have to think or do anything. I could just drift in and out of consciousness.

An image flashes before my eyes, for a moment blinding me. The man, standing before me and yelling things I can't understand. I shake my head, trying to clear my vision.

"Monk? Are you okay?" Vanye asks, making me jump. I look up from my plate of food which I had been previously staring at like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "You look kind of pale."

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine," I murmur. I quickly shovel a spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth to avoid this conversation. "I'm—I'm going to head off to bed." I get to my feet and rush to my room without looking back. I nearly stagger into the wall as another flash of memories wash over my vision, but I reach out and put my arm there instead. I slam my door shut and stumble toward my bed, feeling dizzy and light-headed.

I collapse onto my bed—_a scream and a kick_—feeling tears well in my eyes. After a moment they spill over, running hot and fast down my cheeks. I feel like I can't breathe. I can't get breathe into my lungs. More images flash in quick succession before my eyes, my hands gripping tightly into my mess of hair and digging into my scalp. It burns, but the pain grounds me, even slightly.

"_Your son, Devlin—"_

"_Don't call him that. He's hardly cognitive enough to answer to it."_

"Monk?" I barely hear the voice over my own choking and sobbing. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just remember like everyone else? I'm such a fuck up, no wonder the man kept beating me and I got Reaped for the Hunger Games—"Monk, are you okay?" Can't. Can't. Can't. "Monk, I'm coming in."

"_I would help you, Devlin, but even I don't want to face your father's wrath."_

The door opens slowly and Macy walks in, shutting the door behind her. She gently extricates my hands from my hair. Blood is caked on my fingernails. "Hey, it's okay, Monk. I don't know your whole story, but I can tell you that it's going to okay."

"_Come on, get up. Can you walk?"_

"_N-n-no."_

Still hyperventilating, I lift my shaking head to look at her. "Devlin," I mumble. "Devlin."

"_Go, Devlin! Run! Just get away!"_

"What?" Macy whispers. "What did you say?"

"Devlin," I repeat shakily, moving my hands back to my hair. Blood. There's still blood in my fingernails. Why is there always so much blood? "Devlin."

"What's Devlin?" Macy asks gently. She reaches up and grabs my hands again, setting them down at my sides. I feel a drop of blood trickle down the side of my face.

_The man grabs me by the scruff of my neck and slams my head against the tree trunk—my eyes cross and my vision blurs as blood runs down the front of my head—_

"_Oh, fuck!"_

Terrified and continuing to shake, I reach up and touch my forehead. Nothing. No marks. No blood. I'm not there. I'm here. I'm not there. I'm safe. I'm here. I'm here. Not there.

_I moan in pain as men in white costumes surround me, hurriedly saying things and moving around a lot. Are they going to hurt me? Isn't everyone going to hurt me?_

"_Oh my god, this kid's still awake!" _

"Monk, Monk, what's Devlin?" Macy asks, leaning down in front of my face. "Come on, Monk, you gotta stay with me. Stay grounded here. Remember, Monk. You're here, you're now. Nothing is going to hurt you right now. I promise you're safe here. I don't know what's going through your head right now, but trust me, I've been in your position before. Maybe not in the exact same problem, but I know what it feels like to have panic attacks."

"_Get the district hospital prepared—this kid doesn't have long!"_

_I groan again, my head lolling sideways on the stretcher. Everything hurts. Where am I? What's going on? Why does my head feel so…wet?_

"Devlin," I repeat like a mantra. "Devlin."

"Yes, Monk, Devlin," Macy says as if I'm a two-year-old and she doesn't know if I want food, water or to go to sleep.

_The stretcher is lifted up and into the back of the truck. The movement jostles my body around, sending a fresh stab of pain through my head. I look up at one of the men in white as black washes over my vision. I wonder if I'll ever wake up when I close my eyes. _

"Monk?" Macy exclaims. "Larken, get in here!"

A moment later the door bursts open and Larken and Vanye rush into the room. "What's going on?" Vanye asks. "Monk! Oh my god."

"He started freaking out. Shaking, hyperventilating, and repeating the same word over and over again—I don't know what's wrong with him, but he blacked out a moment ago."

Larken leans over my face. "Well, he's awake now."

"What?" I splutter.

"Hey, Monk, are you…are you okay?" Macy asks tentatively.

"Ye—yeah…" I mumble, sitting up and rubbing the side of my head. My hand comes away covered in small trickles of blood. "Dev…devlin."

"Oh, great. He's doing it again," Macy says exasperatedly.

"Monk, what's Devlin mean?" Vanye asks, sitting down on the end of my bed.

"It's a name," Larken says, shrugging. "I knew a guy named Devlin around twenty years ago."

"Okay, new question: Monk, _who_ is Devlin?" Macy asks.

"…me, I think," I mumble. "I think that used to be my name."

"Huh," Macy says, dropping her arms to her sides. "Wouldn't've guessed that one."

Vanye looks me dead in the eyes. "Are you going to be okay now, Monk?"

"Hopefully," I murmur.

_Fragrance Emst, 16_

_District 1 Female_

The moment Clash walks out of the elevator, I grab the collar of his shirt and drag him over to the wall. I press him against the hard plaster, bearing my teeth. He looks appropriately terrified, which is certainly different than the attitude he was showing off during training. "Alright, Clash. What the fuck was that?" I demand angrily. "Do you really think splitting up the Careers is smart, huh? Do you think any of us are going to benefit from this split? Do you?"

Clash silently pushes me away from him and starts to walk away.

Anger filling my veins, I rush forward and grab the back of his shirt, pulling him backward toward the ground. "Answer me, Winston," I growl through gritted teeth. At his continued silence, I snarl, "I asked you a question, Winston. I expect a fucking answer."

"I am just looking out for my own interests," Clash says curtly, glancing at Peridot and Money seated at the table. Money's eyes are boring into the back of Clash's head. "I don't believe you are, however."

"Cut the shit, Clash," I growl. "I knew you back in 1. This is not something you just pull out of your ass. Where the hell did it come it from, huh? Why the _fuck_ did you think splitting the Careers was a good idea?"

I can see Clash fighting to find an answer that won't make him seem like an idiot. _That's going to be pretty difficult, _I think. _Seeing as he's the biggest idiot I've ever met. _"I didn't come here to make friends, Fragrance. And if I remember this morning correctly, it was actually _you_ who split the Careers, not me. You were the one who walked away, prompting Marina to follow and the Careers to fall apart before the Games even started."

My nostrils flare, and I reel back my fist. The moment it connects with Clash's face, Peridot is on her feet and rushing toward us. Money, however, remains seated, seeming content to just watch the show.

"Alright, that's it!" Clash yells, holding his bleeding nose with one hand. With his free hand, he sends fist flying at my face. I dodge and push him over.

Peridot stands between us and pushes us apart. "That is enough, you two. Fighting like this could get both of you killed. You hear that? You could _die_."

"Hope I do," Clash mumbles as he turns around and walks away. He disappears into his bedroom moments later, angrily slamming the door behind him.

I shove Peridot away and stalk toward my own bedroom, taking pleasure in slamming my door harder and louder than Clash. Sure, it's a childish thing to feel good about slamming a door louder than someone else, but who has ever accused me of being mature? I'll always be seven-years-old at heart.

The first thing I do is grab one of my pillows and hurl it at the wall. Then I grab the other and do the same. I pick them up and throw them over and over again until I get my anger out of my system, albeit completely silent as I go about this. Eventually I flop down on bed, crossing my arms angrily and feeling even more childish than before.

I guess the day catches up to me rather quickly, and before I know it I've drifted off to sleep.

When I wake up, light no longer peeks into my room from under the door. My hair is knotted and tangled, which tells me I've been rolling around a lot. I tiredly get to my feet, stretching and letting out a yawn. At the insistence of my body, realizing it has not had dinner, I go to open my door and get some food.

"I would say you handled the situation well, up until you lost control," a voice is saying, which makes me stop with my door halfway open. "You've to keep any anger in check, Clash."

Oh. It's Clash and Money, apparently having an intense mentoring session at two in the morning, like normal people do. I carefully creep out of my bedroom, cautiously peering around the corner into the greater room.

Clash stands with his back to me, and if Money weren't staring so intensely at Clash's face, he probably would have seen me. He probably _should_ have seen me, but whatever. More eavesdropping for me.

I retract my head and press myself against the wall as Clash replies, "I don't know where it's coming from. I-I've never had anger like this before and it's kind of scaring me—"

His words are cut off by a sharp _slap_ sound. _Oh my god, _I think. _Did Money just hit Clash?_

I take a deep breath and focus on their conversation again.

"Come on, Clash. Victors don't get afraid, do they?" Money asks, sounding condescending. _Is he for real? _I wonder. _Ninety-percent of Victors _definitely _have felt fear before_.

Clash mumbles something that neither I nor Money catch. "What's that?" Money demands, anger filling his voice. "Speak up, boy."

"No," Clash whispers, sounding slightly afraid. "Victors don't feel." He says the last sentence like a robot; completely emotionless, like he's said it a thousand times before and it no longer means anything to him.

"Exactly," Money says. "And you want to be a Victor, right, boy?"

"Yes," Clash mumbles.

_Slap! _

"Speak up, boy!" Money cries. I cautiously sneak a peek around the corner and see Clash cowering before Money, who is nearly nose-to-nose with his mentee. In the dim light cast from the single lamp still illuminated, I can see that Clash's left cheek is red and starting to bruise.

"Yes," Clash repeats loudly, seeming unable to fight off the slight quiver in his voice.

"Exactly what I thought," Money purrs smugly. I hear Clash breathe a sigh of relief, which makes me think Money leaned away from his face. "So: you lost control tonight. Of course, the incident could have been avoided if that bitch of a partner didn't freak out over something she caused—"

I don't hear the rest. I clench my hands into fists, letting my fingernails dig into my palms without noticing. I see nothing but red for a moment before the anger passes through my body and I tune back into the conversation.

"Her name is Fragrance," Clash says quietly. "And…it really wasn't her fault. If it…if it was anyone's…it was yours."

_Is this the same Clash I argued with a few hours ago? _I wonder, astonished. He's…actually…defending me! That's when it hits me: it's Money. It's Money, speaking through Clash. And Clash is too gullible to see that he's basically signing his own death warrant.

_Smack! _

I sneak another peek around the corner. Clash is now on the ground, holding one of his arms over his face protectively. I can see blood slowly trickling from his nose. Money, on the other hand, looks absolutely _livid_. He has his teeth bared, his hands clenched into fists. I wonder if this was the last thing any tributes in his Games saw.

Clash looks terrified. Money looks pissed. Clash was defending me. Money has been hitting Clash.

Money reels back to hit Clash again. As he sends his fist forward, I jump out of my hiding place, putting out my hands in a _stop_ gesture. Too late to stop Money's fist, but maybe I can at least save Clash from being beaten to a pulp. "Stop, stop, stop!" I yell as Money's fist hits Clash's face again.

I hear a sickening _crack_ and remember that Clash had his arm over his face. Money just punched his wrist. Money…Money might have just broken his wrist.

"What the fuck, Money?" I demand, rushing toward Clash, who remains on the ground, cradling his wrist in his other hand. "Look what you just did. You think beating your tribute up is going to do you any favors? You could have broken his wrist, Money. And if I remember correctly, Clash is right-handed. You literally could have just condemned Clash to death."

"Not helping," Clash mumbles.

Peridot finally decides to join as the party, making me aware of our escort's noticeable absence. Someone like Cassiopeia Walterwood could never miss out on drama like this.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Peridot asks, sounding both tired and angry at the same time. "It's two a.m.! Can't you people sleep sometimes?"

"Clash and Fragrance got into a fight," Money says, taking a step away and holding out his hands defensively. "I came out here to break them up."

"What?" Clash and I say in unison.

I get to my feet, walking up to Peridot and saying, "It was Money, Peridot. He was hitting Clash, and I think he might have broken Clash's wrist."

Remind me to never get on Peridot Nero's bad side. I do not want to face her wrath.

"Hey, I'm going to go take Clash down to the medic now! Okay bye!" I say quickly, pulling Clash to his feet. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone loses an eye."

I help Clash stumble to the elevator. As I push the button to take us down to the Training Center, it occurs to me that it's currently two in the morning. The likelihood that someone is still working is slim.

"So…are we cool?" Clash whispers, sounding unsure of his words.

"What do you mean?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Like…can the Careers come back together?"

I think about it for a moment. "Not on Marina's watch. She's still pissed about all of this. And besides, an eight person Career pack seems like a bit much."

Clash is silent for a few seconds. "Did you mean what you said? About my wrist, I mean."

How do I say this? I can't tell him he's definitely going to die because of it, although the pessimist in me wants to. So instead I decide on, "I guess it depends."

"Can we also not mention this to anyone else?" Clash requests quietly. "I don't really want anyone knowing about this."

"I don't care," I say. "We'll just go with Money's story. We got in a fight. But do you really want to keep up Money's persona? I can't be the only one getting annoyed with Money Quinneton reincarnate running around the Training Center."

"Maybe," Clash says indecisively. "I'll probably have to. But maybe, just like…tone it down a little bit?"

"Hm," I say. "Sounds like a plan to me." The elevator doors open. "Good luck with everything, Clash. I thought you were a jerk, but I guess that kind of changes now. If I can't win, I'll be rooting for you from hell."

"Hell?" Clash repeats, confused.

"Yeah, we all know I'm going to hell anyways."

**A/N: So wow, this ran very, very long. I got carried away writing both Fragrance and Monk and didn't want to end either POV before I was ready, so here you go. **

**1\. What exactly is going on in Monk's backstory?**

**2\. Was Macy good at helping Monk calm down?**

**3\. Are you surprised by the turn in Fragrance and Clash's relationship?**

**4\. Is Money Quinneton a horrible person?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: have you started school yet? (if you're still in school, obviously).**

**My answer: yep, I started on the 23****rd****, rip. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Siblings?: **_**Warren (D6M), Mercy (D6F)**

_**C-Club: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Babysitter's Club: **_**Jayanne (D11F), Daniel (D12M)**

**Bloodbath Countdown: seven chapters. **

**-Amanda**


	23. Training Day Two

_Carter Sykes, 18_

_District 8 Male_

_Smack! Smack!_

I can't get him out of my head.

_Smack! Smack! _

I should be able to get him out of my head. There is no reason on Snow's green Panem that he won't leave my head. I just need to clear my head. I just need to stop thinking about him for one. Goddamn. Second. And maybe I'll be able to focus on anything else. Like, whatever the hell happened between the pair from 1 last night. Yes, that's a good thing to think about. That does not involve him. He is not apart of those thoughts. He has no place in my head. He needs to just get the fuck out.

_Smack! Smack! Smack! _

The hard sound of my rapid fire knives hitting the target, one after another, each a better bullseye than the last, is the only thing that keeps me grounded. In the lull of each throw, as I grab another, my mind wanders to _him_ again, always back to him. It's always him.

_Smack! Smack! _

I've never had particularly good aim, but now it's anger that fuels me. Anger at myself, for being so stupid, anger at my own shortcomings, anger at my mind for letting me get distracted. _Damnit, Carter, _I chide myself. _You have to focus on the task at hand: winning the Hunger Games. You can't afford to get distracted right now. _

_Smack! Smack! Smack!_

The steady beat of the knives bring me back to reality ones more, pulling my mind away from him to long enough to wonder how I got myself in this position. Standing in the Training Center before the 151st Annual Hunger Games, throwing knives rapid fire in a way I have never thrown them before, fighting to keep a boy out of my head.

_Smack! Smack!_

How pathetic does that sound?

_Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!_

Maybe if I could take my mind off him for just a few seconds, I get myself onto another train of thought that _won't_ crash and burn the moment I look up and see him standing there. The 1s didn't work. Thinking of home will only make me sadder than I already am. Nonetheless, I picture Aryanna's face in my mind, shaking her head and saying, "Wow, Carter. How'd you get yourself into this one?"

_Smack! Smack! Smack! _

Maybe the feeling would go away if I got to, say, kiss him. Or maybe it would leave me with euphoria for weeks, desperately begging for more. If only I wasn't such a hopeless romantic, this would work out okay. It would pass by as just a little crush, completely unfounded and eventually ignored. But no. It never works like that for me.

_Smack! Smack! Smack!_

Maybe it would help if he were interested in me. Maybe that would help ease my conscience for obsessing over a boy I met a few days ago and only held a formal conversation with yesterday. Maybe that would change everything.

_Smack! Smack! Smack! _

But no. Connor has to go have a girlfriend.

Finally I run out of knives to throw, the target in front of me completely decimated by my anger. I turn away from the wreckage I left in my wake, glancing at the girl from 2 who's mouth hangs open at my display. Without looking back, I quickly walk over to Connor.

"Hey," I say. Do not blush, do not blush, _do not blush. _I repeat it over and over in my head like a mantra, but it's clear it's doing me no favors. "What are you up to?"

Without looking up from his arm, Connor says, "Camouflage."

"Oh, cool," I comment, taking a seat beside him. I glance at his arm and see it's mostly covered by different green paints. I'm not sure where he's going to blend in with that, but who I am to judge? I'm not going to camouflage anywhere. At least Connor is trying.

_Rylan Darlux, 16_

_District 9 Male_

Flourish Jemsly is a bit of an enigma to me.

I had thought she just didn't like people, which was why she ignored everything I did and was downright rude whenever I had the audacity to speak to her. But then I saw her readily join the Career girls with more enthusiasm than I've ever seen her have. I figured she just doesn't like me, that I just rubbed her the wrong way when we first met.

And then she angrily told the boy from 12 to fuck off when he asked her a question.

The little twelve-year-old boy, the goofball who allied with the pregnant girl and the deaf boy, who has probably never done anything wrong in his entire life. And for some reason, Flourish hates him. That was when I finally figured it out: she just doesn't like boys.

A vague memory popped up in my head at this realization. I remember hearing this rich kid, Barlen, talking about her. District 9 has always been rampant with transphobia and homophobia, unfortunately. I've never dealt with either of those things first hand, and I never intend to, but people like Flourish know exactly what it is.

Barlen was talking about someone named Flouran, complaining about the fact that he was clearly mentally unstable for wanting to become a girl. Maybe I would have done something about it if I wasn't robbing him out of house and home. But I feel like taking the three-hundred-forty-seven caps in his wallet was punishment enough. And those caps bought Saoirse, Dare and I enough food to last us three weeks. Better yet, Barlen never even caught me.

So maybe it took me a while to connect the dots. But I did indeed connect those dots, and I guess I can't fault Flourish for hating boys after facing transphobia.

The only thing that makes me kind of sad is that I was hoping to ally with Flourish, before the Career girls of course. I don't think it would have gone well if I had actually proposed it though, especially after seeing her tell Daniel to kindly fuck off and leave her alone.

I really don't think she has to worry about Daniel hating her. From what I have seen, Daniel doesn't seem capable of hating anybody.

My eyes wander back toward Flourish, standing in the middle of the weapons station, deep in conversation with Guadalupe and Fragrance. Marina is decimating targets with a spear beside a couple of Avoxes, cleaning up another target that is completely destroyed and covered in knives. _I definitely don't want to get on that person's bad side, _I think as a shiver runs down my spine.

Over at the camouflage station, Connor and Carter are talking about something as Connor paints in his arms green. Beside them stand Daniel and Yama, Jayanne nowhere to be found. Daniel is painting something that definitely doesn't look like it can be used as camouflage on Yama's arm.

I let out a sigh and get to my feet, walking away from the water purifying station where I had been camped out for around half an hour. I wander for another few minutes before I walk past the camouflage station and Daniel waves at me. "Hiya!" he exclaims, looking away from Yama's arm.

"…hi," I say uncertainly, stopping and staring at him.

"Do you like allies?" Daniel asks.

I furrow my eyebrows. "With you?"

"Yeah!" Daniel exclaims. "And Yama and Jayanne."

"…okay," I say.

"Great!" Daniel says excitedly. Yama taps his shoulder and hands him a pad of paper. Daniel starts nodding eagerly and takes Yama's pen. He scribbles something down, making Yama laugh.

"Does Jayanne know about it?" I ask, taking a few steps toward Daniel and Yama.

Daniel looks up. "Yeah, of course she does! I asked her about it earlier."

"Oh. Well, alright." I sit down beside Yama and Daniel as the latter goes back to painting the former's arm with a rainbow array of colors. "What are you doing?"

Without looking up, Daniel says, "We're bored. Jayanne is over there" He points in the general direction of the shelter-making station. "still trying to get her roof to stand up. It's not working very well."

I shake my head and laugh. "Okay, then. You wanna paint my arm too?"

Daniel's eyes dance excitedly. "Yes!"

_Jayanne Hart, 18_

_District 11 Female_

I _will_ get this shelter to work, even if it's the last thing I do. It probably would have been a lot easier if not for Daniel knocking off the roof, but I'm not going to complain about his enthusiasm. At least one person in our alliance should remain optimistic and hopeful.

It's not that I've lost hope. I suppose it's because I have never had hope in the first place. If I had been Reaped at seventeen, it would be a completely different story. I would fight, tooth and nail, to get back home. And I still will fight as best as I can, but that is not going to be easy.

As the roof and left wall of my shelter tumbles inward, I angrily get to my feet. I'm done with this. We'll find different shelter in the arena.

I look over to my allies at the camouflage station and notice that Rylan has joined them. Daniel is laughing as he paints something onto Rylan's forearm. Yama is grinning as he scribbles something down on his notepad. I shake my head and make my way over to them.

"Hi, Jayanne!" Daniel exclaims, waving excitedly. "Rylan is joining us!"

"That's great," I say, slowly lowering myself to the ground beside Yama. "Welcome to the crew, Rylan."

"Thanks," Rylan says distractedly, seemingly focusing more on Daniel's paint job that my words. "How did your shelter building go?" he asks me.

"I gave up," I admit. "It's not going to work, plus the trainer at the station is doing nothing to help."

"Oh," Rylan replies. "Some of the trainers seem really good, others are just rude."

"Exactly!" I exclaim. "Like the guy who was at the fire-starting station yesterday? He was just sarcastic and bitter."

"Didn't meet that guy," says Rylan. "But the dude over at the spear station was pretty cool. Don't get me started on the water purifying girl though." He shivers. "I sat there for around half an hour earlier, and she wouldn't stop pestering me to leave."

"I don't know why you'd join the team of trainers if you weren't actually going to help," I say, shaking my head.

"Maybe it's the only way to get to the Gamemaking team," Rylan offers with a shrug. "Maybe you have to work your way up the hierarchy."

"That would make sense," I agree, looking down at Rylan's very colorful arm. Daniel painted a rainbow from his wrist to forearm. Some of the colors are slightly full, since all these paints are not meant for rainbows and smiles, but for camouflage.

And then I notice the writing.

_Victor of the 151__st__ Annual Hunger Games. _

I glance over at Yama's rainbow arm and find the words noticeably absent. Daniel thinks the one of us most likely to win is Rylan.

I suppose he's right. Rylan is the only one of us who is really, truly capable. Yama is deaf. I'm pregnant. Daniel is the only twelve-year-old in the arena. Rylan, on the other hand, has no handicaps holding him down, has skills needed to win the Games, and remains hopeful.

Because there really is no hope for me. I know that. Daniel knows that. Yama probably knows that. Even Rylan has to know that. The only hope I can hold onto is that I will make it to Day 3 so I won't have to feel guilty about losing my child. I heave a sigh. I'm going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it.

_Achilles Spearmen, 17_

_District 3 Male_

When I agreed to join the Careers, I didn't exactly know what I was getting myself into.

I didn't know that one of my allies would get in a fight and break his wrist.

I didn't know that said ally would appear to hate all our guts.

I didn't know that Arthur would constantly be staring angrily at his district partner.

I didn't know.

And if I had known, I wouldn't have agreed to join them. Now it just seems like a mistake that leaves my life hanging on the balance.

It's also not like I can just…walk away. I don't want that large of a target on my back, especially after seeing first hand what each of my allies can do. I've analyzed each of their fighting styles at great length; it's practically all I've done for the past two hours.

Clash fights like a maniac. He slashes and stabs and dodges and kicks. He doesn't seem to be afraid to play dirty, and seems unpredictable. I've been trying to find a method to his madness, but there is none. Even with a broken wrist precluding him from using his dominant hand, he's still highly dangerous.

Adrian is much more methodical. He always seems to have a plan before he jumps into a fight, and clearly knows what he's doing. I did the complete opposite with him than I did with Clash: I was trying to find a madness to his method, but again, there is none. He clearly calculates each move before he executes it, which again, makes him highly dangerous. He doesn't screw up. There are no chinks in his perfectly kept armor.

Arthur doesn't really have a fighting style, since he is an archer. It makes me wonder how he'd do in close combat, seeing as he spends his time almost exclusively at the archery station. Of course, I never want to be facing him down when he holds a bow in his hands, but I figure I could easily best him in hand-to-hand combat. Still, it's clear he thinks very highly of himself when he's got that bow in his hands, and I don't think his pride is misplaced.

I've been sitting here on the bench, pretending to be taking a break, for around fifteen minutes now, intently staring at Arthur. He just continues to fire arrow after arrow with deadly accuracy. He doesn't stop long enough for me to propose a sparring match. That's what I need. That's what I need to see his fighting style so I can figure out how to use it against him.

Clash and Adrian were easy to figure out. I just have to do the opposite of whatever they do. I have to be unpredictable to fight Adrian, and have to make a method to fight Clash.

I notice that Arthur has at last run out of arrows and bolt to my feet. "Hey, Arthur," I say congenially. "You want to spar?"

He looks at me oddly for a moment before he says, "Uh, yeah, sure." He sets his bow down on the bench I had been previously occupying and follows me over to the sparring trainer.

Clash apparently gets curious and wanders over to watch us.

"I'm sure you both know the basic rules," the trainer, a woman by the name of Haddixa, tells us. "but I suppose I'll relay them again since it's in my job description. First off, all weapons you use are not real, obviously, meaning there are no life-threatening actions allowed, i.e. choking. Whoever manages to hold their opponent down for five seconds is declared the winner. That's really it, since there are no rules when it comes to fighting in the arena."

I wait for Arthur to make the first move, but he remains stationary, looking at me expectantly. Any traces of confidence are gone from his posture now.

After a moment of standing and staring at each other, I get impatient and start the fight.

And I was _right_.

Arthur seems to dodging more than he is actually fighting. I hit him in enough places with my fake dagger that I could have killed him ten times over if we were fighting with real weapons. He's making a valiant effort, sure, and he can sort of hold his own, but he's no Adrian. After about thirty seconds, I get my elbow on his chest and pull him to the ground, holding him there and potentially cutting off his air supply, judging by the noises he is making. I hear Haddixa count to five, and I lean off Arthur.

Arthur makes a beeline for the archery station again, glaring at me as he still gets impossibly perfect bullseyes without looking.

Oh well. Even if I pissed him off, I still learned useful information. Basically that in close quarters, Arthur doesn't want to touch people, Clash will slash, stab and bite, and Adrian calculates each move before he does them. It's a small price to pay for such valuable information.

_Adrian Corvinus, 18_

_District 2 Male_

Achilles must think we are a lot dumber than we are. At least, than I am. It's pretty easy to see what he's doing when he spends prolonged periods of time intensely staring at Arthur—who somehow managed to remain completely oblivious—and watches Clash and I like a hawk all morning. It's plain to see. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's trying to figure out ways to kill us if need be.

He wants our fatal flaws.

No, not like being loyal or prideful. Just of the easiest way to kill us.

I can understand why he wants them. It's a useful thing to know in the Hunger Games, but he could at least be a little bit more subtle. I don't know if I would rather be as oblivious as Arthur in this situation, since it's likely nothing will ever come of Achilles's diligent scrutiny. The Careers are already split as is; the likelihood that we'll fight is slim.

The biggest problem I see with the Career split is that we all have less protection. Instead of having five people to back me up, I'm now stuck with three. It would have been two if not for Achilles joining us. I'm still on the fence about whether or not it was a good idea to let Achilles in. But even I don't have enough courage to tell Clash Winston to stop. I don't want to be on that guy's bad side.

I let out a sigh as I watch Achilles go back to his bench. I consider it 'his' since he has hardly moved from it in the past hour—aside from sparring with Arthur. I still don't get why he needed to do that. It was clear to me that Arthur's skills came in archery. I didn't need to choke him to figure that out. Because I may have not been standing there like Clash, but I was watching, and Achilles was definitely leaning too hard on Arthur's windpipe.

I don't know if Achilles thinks I'm an idiot or not.

None of the Careers this year are dumb—not the male ones, anyway. Clash may be incredibly dense, but he's not dumb. I can tell there's brains somewhere in there. He just isn't using them to the best of his ability. Arthur is arrogant, and probably not the smartest person in the universe, but can't say he's stupid either. Sure, he seems to completely lack common sense, but so does Achilles.

Yeah, Achilles is just…a completely different case entirely. For one thing, he isn't a conventional Career, which makes him dangerous. He's no idiot either. He seems to be calculating, which is again something that worries me.

If I had to pick the biggest threat in our alliance, I would, hands down, say Achilles. Clash is strong, but he's clearly fighting some sort of internal battle, which makes him less of a powerful adversary. Arthur has skills, especially with bows, but he can't fight hand-to-hand to save his life.

I suppose that's the main reason I would prefer a peaceful Career split this year. In our current state, half of us could be dead by the Final Eight. It wouldn't be a surprise.

I shake my head and take a swig from my water bottle. Achilles has since vacated his bench and is now sparring with Clash. Arthur remains camped out at the archery station. The notice the girl from 9, whose name is on the tip of my name, standing behind Arthur and glaring daggers at the back of his head.

Marina and Fragrance are debating about something as they walk through the Training Center, Guadalupe appearing nowhere to be found. Oh well. It's not like it's my problem what the Career girls do. Until we reach the Games, I don't need to care about them. If they were my allies, it would be different.

And maybe I should be analyzing them as well. This could be my only chance to do so, but seeing as none of them are doing anything worthy of note right now, I see no point in wasting my time. After all, Clash and Achilles are sparring, and I have a feeling that will turn out differently than it did when Achilles and Arthur went at it.

_Mercy Mitsui, 16_

_District 6 Female_

To say I'm pissed is an understatement.

I've spent my entire day harping on the girl from 10, even sinking so low to _threaten her family_, which I unfortunately cannot harm while I'm still here, and she still had the audacity to say no! I wasted an entire day on her, and she did nothing but stare at me and walk away!

Normally if something like this happened, I would probably shoot whoever refused my offer. But seeing as that is not an option, I am forced to take my anger out on the only person completely at my disposal:

Warren.

The trainers dismiss us for the night. I am the first person to reach the elevators, pulling Warren by the wrist behind me.

Practically shaking with rage, I press the _close doors_ button as fast I can. Before any of the other tributes reach the elevator, the doors slide closed. Good.

"So…do you want to talk about it?" Warren mumbles.

"About what?" I demand, rounding on him.

"Well…I just thought…and you're shaking…and…never mind," Warren stammers.

"Oh, you're useless!" I exclaim. "Do you not _really_ understand?"

"…understand what?" Warren asks apprehensively.

Before I am forced to reply, the elevator doors ding and open onto District 6's floor. Kasumi and Dixie are seated at the table, talking about something. I ignore both of them and pull Warren into my room, slamming the door behind us.

"Okay…" says Warren uncertainly. "What is this about, Mercy?"

"Wow, I guess you really _are_ as stupid I figured," I growl, facing the windows. "Are you really so oblivious that didn't notice what I've been spending my day doing?"

I hear Warren's feet shuffling against the carpet. "I noticed."

I ignore Warren's words and look down at the darkening streets of the Capitol. Are there any gangs down there? I've always heard crime runs rampant through the streets of Capitol lesser—of course meaning there are gangs. Do they fear my father? Surely they _know_ my father—anyone in a gang should know my father.

Sparing a glance at the dragon tattoo peaking out from my sleeve, I whirl around and catch Warren by the hood of his jacket, pulling him back into the room. "I didn't think I dismissed you." I keep my hold on his hood, tugging him further into the room. I push him in front of me and slam the door again.

"I…I didn't know you needed to," Warren says.

"I would have thought you'd know, after being a part of RL for so long," I say curtly. I zero in on his missing finger. "I don't think the rules have changed since we arrived in the Capitol, Oto."

"I didn't know the rules still applied," mumbles Warren.

I scoff. "You think the rules are going to change because of _this_?" I gesture around the room, at the light streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Capitol which never sleeps, the darkened covers on the bed, the muffled voices of our mentors outside of the room. "Of course the rules still apply! You are here to do one job and one job only—protect me, do anything in your power to bring _me_ home, and then die! Do you really think you're ever going home? You're delusional!"

Warren looks hurt. I smugly cross my arms across my chests when his face turns angry. "No, Mercy. _You're_ the delusional one." And with that he shoves his way past me and opens the door, slamming it behind him.

I see red. I don't go after him. Instead I stalk over to the window and put my fist straight through the glass. The sound of shattering glass echoes through our floor, but I don't notice the pain as the shards get stuck in my skin. I simply stare at my fist, slowly becoming covered with my blood.

Nothing is happening right. Warren isn't conforming. Shawn isn't cooperating. Nothing is working out right.

The door bursts open and I hear Dixie yell, "What the hell was that?" I ignore her and continue to stare at the window, blood dripping down my pant leg.

"That's a new one," Dixie says, looking at the hole in my window and the glass shards embedded in my hand. I don't turn to look at her.

Huh. You know, Warren had a point. I would kind of like to look at the stars right about now.

**A/N: Training is…really boring. I'm sorry if this chapter isn't the best. I just have no interest in writing three whole training days. It's just. So. Boring. **

**Fun fact: I randomly started to accidentally call Achilles 'Target' and Arthur 'Epcot' while writing this. It's probably because I was watching videos about D23, but who knows what I was thinking? I'm just a mess today.**

**1\. Will Carter's crush on Connor last?**

**2\. Is there any hope for Jayanne?**

**3\. Is Achilles going to need his research?**

**4\. Why did Mercy want to ally with Shawn?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: has your prediction on the Victor changed since the Reapings ended?**

**My answer: alright well, I can't answer this. But I can say that the Victor I originally planned on has changed. It changed around the time of the hot tub chapter I think?**

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**Babysitters' Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Jayanne (D11F), Yama (D11M), Daniel (D12M)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Bloodbath Countdown: six chapters. **

**-Amanda**


	24. The Price of Victory

_Marina Galindez, 17_

_District 4 Female_

I don't care what anyone says; I'm not cut out to be a leader.

Sure, I'm better at it than Clash, but that is some pretty damn low hanging fruit. I have to allow myself the pride of saying I am, in fact, a better leader than Clash Winston. And seeing as we have no better replacement in our little group of Career girls, I am stuck.

Not that I could ever see myself conforming to the commands of Clash, or any of the male Careers, for that matter. It's just a matter of perspective, I suppose. But it's mainly because I've never been very good at conforming.

For the past two days, I've been doing my best to completely ignore Arthur's existence. I should have known as soon as he was Reaped and no one bothered to volunteer for him—a bad decision on Fischer's part, but whatever—that I needed to ignore him. But did I? No, of course not. I'm still basically a child and I've never made good decisions.

Still, I knew him for, what, two days? It's not exactly like we were best friends or had known each other since childhood. I mean, I heard about him when he pulled the stunt to leave the Academy, but no one talked about him after that blew over.

Besides, Arthur is not my problem. I need to focus on my own problems before I worry about anyone else.

But…I can't lie and say this hot-tub isn't a _tiny_ bit lonely.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. A few droplets of water go flying from the ends of my hair.

I will never lie and say I don't like to be alone. When I'm alone, my mind tends to wander back to that boat with Caspar. It's carefully tucked away in the darkest corner of my mind, under chains, lock and key, but sometimes it wriggles free. Sometimes I think about how I could have done it differently. But of course, it's the past. The past is the past, and the present is the problem.

Inside our floor, the lights are off and everyone else has retired to their rooms. I heave a sigh, letting my head loll back to rest on the edge of the hot tub. The sky looks odd here. I miss the stars. Going on out on a boat late at night, looking up at the stars, finding constellations…that's the good stuff. But I haven't done that in years, not after the Caspar incident. Sometimes I miss it, but the moment I set foot on a boat, I want to run back to shore and hide. The rocking of the waves will always remind me of Caspar, and of my own mistakes.

But I consider myself to be pretty much over it. I can sit in this hot tub for as long as I want with no problems. Even if I can't see the bottom of the tub, I have no fear that a shark is going to suddenly burst out and eat me. It's the fact that I manage to be rational with my fears that keeps me from being terrified like Arthur.

I shut my eyes. I don't want to see the lack of stars anymore. It makes me sad if anything.

After another few moments I can no longer take it. I open my eyes and get out of the hot tub. I wrap my towel around my waist and trudge into the floor, shutting the glass door behind me. For someone like me, about to go into the Hunger Games in two days, I feel calm. I feel at peace. I feel prepared for what I'm about to face, what I may suffer through, what I might become. I feel prepared for the notion of death.

I had never expected that.

I always expected I would be terrified to die. But I'm not. It's not because I'm so certain I'll win. No, I know that I may die. It's not going to stop me from fighting my hardest to get home, but if I die…it's not scary. I could run from death, cower in the bushes and beg it to spare me. But if I'm going down, I'm going to fight tooth and nail to keep death at bay.

If I do die, at least I know Caspar will be waiting for me on the other side. Unless because I take someone's life. What then? I'd be the bad guy. The reason someone else no longer lived. I'd be a villain. Where would I go then?

_Flourish Jemsly, 17_

_District 9 Female_

I can't sleep.

I haven't been sleeping well since I was Reaped—no clue why, of course. It's not like I have a ticking clock hanging over my head. It's not like I'm about to go into the Hunger Games. It's not like I may die in the coming weeks.

No, of course not. I wonder why I can't sleep.

Unless…maybe I really _am_ worrying about dying young! What a surprise.

Despite the plush covers, soft pillows and fluffy mattress, I remain rigid in bed, staring at the ceiling. I glare into the darkness, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I could cry. I could laugh. But instead, I just feel angry. Angry at myself, for not being strong enough. Angry at the Capitol, for making me play this game. Angry at the escort, for picking my name. Angry at Rylan, for not leaving me alone. Really, I'm just angry at the world.

I heave a sigh, swinging my legs out of bed. I start to walk out of my room when I hear Gracyn and Iara talking outside.

"So…I've got another appointment tomorrow," Iara is saying.

"Oh, Ra—" Gracyn starts.

"It's fine, Gracyn," Iara defends, sounding like it's anything but fine. "I just hope it's better than last time."

"You shouldn't have to worry about this," Gracyn says angrily. "I'm sorry, Ra."

"Seriously, I'm fine," Iara says, shaking her head. "I've survived every one before, and I'll survive again. I'm a fighter." A mirthless laugh fills the silence that follow her statement. "How's your dad?"

"Dead," Gracyn says after a moment.

"What?" Iara exclaims. "But—you told me he was fine the day before the Reapings—I thought—what happened?"

"They told me I was on thin ice," Gracyn says with a shrug. "I already lost Reese, Terrah and Alizah. All because of my mistakes." She sighs and shakes her head. "I just can't refuse again, for Harvest's sake."

"Oh, Gray, I'm so sorry," Iara whispers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not your problem, Iara. You just need to focus on keeping Rylan alive, remember? We don't want another Cornell—"

"Don't remind me of that," Iara says, shutting her eyes tight. "Why did they take your father?"

"I refused to sleep with another Capitol man," says Gracyn. "Harvest and I have both agreed it's even more disgusting now that I have her. What would the Capitolites say if someone wanted to sleep with Chance Rovaeny? 'No, he's in a relationship'." She shakes her head vehemently. "But because both he and Alec are Victors, it counts. But Harvest doesn't matter to them anymore than my father, than my sisters' lives meant."

"What are you talking about?" I demand, opening my door, appalled.

Gracyn and Iara look appropriately shocked. "Oh—Flourish!" Iara exclaims. "We didn't know you were still up—"

"Answer me, please," I say, hearing my voice crack. "Refusal to sleep with Capitol men. Not caring about your spouses. Killing your family members. What does any of it mean?"

"Flourish, honey, I don't think we need to talk about—" Gracyn begins, but I cut her off.

"I want to know the truth," I say firmly. "I want to know what I may be getting myself into if I win the Games."

Gracyn falters. After a few moments she sighs and looks down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Flourish. If we told you exactly what we were talking about, you would never want to play the Games—"

"I already don't want to play them, Gracyn," I say. "I want to know if winning is a fate worse than death."

Gracyn looks appalled, but Iara says, "Yes, Flourish. It is a fate worse than death. If I could go back and make one change, it would be to not kill that boy in the finale—"

"That's enough!" Gracyn exclaims. "Both of you! Iara, if you hadn't won, you would be dead. Flourish, if you don't win, you will die!"

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad," I muse aloud. "Even if I win, no one will ever accept me in 9. I'll still be the transgender one. I won't be the girl who won the Games. I'll be the crazy boy who happened to win the Games. Maybe I don't want to spend my life like that, not having a place at home and suffering every day I am in the Capitol! Maybe I don't want that. Did you ever think of that, Gracyn?"

"I—no, I—well, I just—see, I just—no, that's not what—"

"No, she didn't," Iara intercedes. "I'm sorry, Flourish. I wish there was more we could do for you. But if that is really what you want…I will never demand you fight for something you don't desire."

"Thank you," I say, nodding to Iara and glaring pointedly at Gracyn.

All three of us stand there for a moment before I turn around and walk back into my bedroom. I shut my door and lean heavily against it, letting out a sigh. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I don't want to die, but now I don't want to win. I don't want to see myself suffer like that. Call me selfish. Maybe that's true. Maybe I am selfish.

People say, 'it's either him or me'. In this case, it's either I win and suffer or someone else does. And yeah, it's selfish to say I want to shove that upon someone else. I apologize that I'm just looking out for my own skin, trying to find any sort of happiness. But I lost any chance I had at happiness years ago, didn't I? The moment I decided I needed to become a girl—a decision I still don't regret, no matter how many problems it caused me—I threw happiness out of the window. But it's a blame game I never signed up to play—oh, it was Flourish's fault, since she decided she had to be _different_. Oh, it's Father's fault, for not accepting Flourish as who she is. Oh, it's everyone's fault. No one can claim to be perfect in this situation. Certainly not me.

So yeah, I'm selfish. I don't want to suffer anymore than I have to. And this is one choice I'm not going to back down on.

**A/N: Yay. I'm done again. **

**1\. Is Marina the right choice for the leader of the Career Queens?**

**2\. Is Marina **_**truly**_** okay with dying, or is she simply convincing herself of it?**

**3\. Will this revelation change Flourish's chance at Victory?**

**4\. Who do you prefer: Gracyn or Iara?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: Alright, I'm going to level with you. I can't come up with more random questions, so I'm just going to do kiss-marry-kill with the tributes in this story. I'm using a random number generator, but I did remove Daniel since none of us are going to want to kill him, but it's kind of weird to marry or kiss him. First up: Melissandre, Fulmina, Monk. **

**My answer: Kiss Melissandre, marry Monk, kill Fulmina. Sorry Fulmina, but I'd rather kiss Melissandre and Monk deserves to be loved. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**Babysitters' Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Jayanne (D11F), Yama (D11M), Daniel (D12M)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Bloodbath Countdown: four chapters (I realized I had been counting the actual Bloodbath in that tally.)**

**-Amanda**


	25. Training Day Three And Private Sessions

_Joaquin Murrieta, 16_

_District 10 Male_

I don't know what my plan for the private sessions is. I guess I'm just going to wing it and hope everything works out.

I almost start laughing at that thought. Things _never_ work out when I wing it, but I've always been terrible at planning. My plans never turn out well. Whenever I'm forced to steal, to lie, to cheat on anything, I don't make plans. I just throw myself into it and hope it works out okay.

The marks on my back is answer enough as to how that works out.

I always knew I'd die young—not from the Hunger Games, exactly, but because my lack of planning would someday make me unable to carry on. I don't want to do that to Sonja, but now I doubt I have a choice. I'm nothing special; just a thief from one of the poorest Districts with no inspirational story, no amazing reason to make it home. Nothing pretty, either. Nothing that will make me a commodity or something people are going to want to sponsor. I'm not exactly the kind of person people root for. I'm more of the guy people root _against_.

I _do_ actually start laughing at that thought, which makes the spear trainer look at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Who knows? I certainly don't. I would really rather not go insane, but it's got to happen to someone. It always does.

My arms aches slightly as I lift my arm to throw the hefty spear. I've always been scrawny. It's something that comes with living in the Community Home, and it helps when trying to steal. Now it's something I regret not working against. It's just another reason that I'm going to die in the arena.

Oddly enough, I don't mind. I don't fear death. It's always been something I knew I would quickly face with my careless lifestyle. My life isn't exactly precious to me.

I suppose that's the reason I don't fear death. I don't put value into my own life. I would always rather be here than Sonja. And it's definitely not that I'm selfless; it can hardly be called that. No, I just don't think my own life matters that much. I don't enjoy life that much. There has always been that instinctive need to live, that drive in my bones to find food, to find water, to continue breathing, but I have rarely paid it any attention.

Sonja, well, Sonja always wanted to live. Sonja always had a more animalistic drive to live than I did. It's not like I wanted to kill myself or something like that. But if the time arose when I'd die, I wasn't going to run from it.

I laugh again at that thought, shaking my head slightly and throwing my spear. It doesn't even reach the target. _Oh, well_, I think. _Knowing how throw a spear is not going to change the outcome of these Games. I'll be dead either way. _

I shrug and walk away from the spear station.

_Guadalupe Dominguez, 18_

_District 2 Female_

To be frank, I feel terrible.

I shouldn't be able to blame myself for the mistakes of Clash. It's not my fault that he didn't think I was good enough—but that definitely doesn't stop me from convincing myself of that. Maybe if I looked and acted better, none of this would have happened, and the Career Pack wouldn't be weakened.

So, yeah, in summary, it's all my fault. Even if I haven't been whispering down Clash's neck with ideas of how to successfully fuck all of us over, I am the reason everything is fucked over. If I were better, stronger, smarter, none of this would be happening. We wouldn't be having these problems. Everything would have worked out okay, and we would be six people strong—maybe even seven, since it's likely we still would have taken the boy from 3. I would certainly feel much better if that were the case—not only would I have more people surrounding me, I wouldn't have this crap on my conscious.

"So, yeah, in summary, it's all Clash's fault," Marina says, shrugging.

"So we've heard," Fragrance says irritably. "We all know you hate Clash with the passion of a thousand suns. Can we shut up about it already?"

Marina glares at her. "Sure, Fragrance. As soon as you stop defending him."

Fragrance gapes, glancing at me as if to conform what Marina is saying.

"Fragrance!" I exclaim suddenly. "Are those freckles on your face? I just noticed them!"

"Oh, yes," Fragrance says, happily turning away from Marina's face. "they are. It's a long story, but I'm planning a big transformation for the interviews tomorrow night. The freckles are only the beginning." Fragrance lets out a small giggle which I can't help but wonder if it's fake or not.

Flourish wanders over. "Hey, girls," she greets with a small wave. "How's life?"

"Fine," Marina says through gritted teeth. "We're all _just fine_."

"Wow, Marina," Fragrance snarks, rolling her eyes. "Tell us what you really think."

Marina's scowl deepens and she stalks away. I let out a nearly in-audible sigh. This is my fault. Marina's unhappiness, Fragrance's irritation, Flourish's fake optimism. It's all my fault. None of them would be dealing with this if it weren't for me. If I were better, we wouldn't be having this problem. I shake my head slightly and glance over my shoulder at Flourish.

I'll admit, there's something that changed overnight about Flourish. Her demeanor seems more…small, than before. Like she's hiding and has been beaten down. She seems sadder and more hopeless than yesterday. I've always said nothing happens overnight, but Flourish serves as living proof that I am wrong. Something happened last night. Something that changed Flourish's entire outlook on the Games.

Oh well. I guess if Flourish has changed her mind on winning the Games, it's one less person I have to worry about. I've never exactly reveled in the bloodshed part of the Games, but it's not like I'll refuse to do so when I have to. I have things to prove.

I push my glasses further up the bridge of my nose, shaking my head again.

_Delta Bishop, 15_

_District 3 Female_

In the past few days, everything has changed.

Everything is so…so…so _different_ here! I don't know what to think about any of it. It's confusing and puzzling and bewildering and…gah, I just want to go home. I want to go back to District 3 and just continue living exactly how I've lived every day of my life. I don't want any of this! I just want to go home. I just want everything to go back to the way it was, before I was Reaped.

Even after a simple conversation with Achilles and our mentors—well, minus Rocket, since he can't even talk—everything felt different. Suddenly I was forced to accept the hard, cold truth: my life is—was—not normal.

My whole life, I always thought I lived normally. The same way everyone else in 3 lived. But the moment Achilles had started to talk, everything began to come crashing down around me.

I've always had my skepticisms on the way I've lived, but I've never raised any of the questions. Most of those questions _were_ raised by someone, just not me. It was Gabriel who made me think of these things, that maybe our lives weren't normal, and weren't right. I just never thought anything of his words.

But now? Now everything is different. Suddenly everything I've done for the past fifteen years of my life feels…wrong. Tainted, somehow. It's like my whole outlook on Panem has been rocked on its very axis.

Nothing should have changed. I _should_ be able to maintain exactly what I've always known. I don't want to leave my safe little bubble of ignorance, but the whole Games have poked a whole in it, slowly siphoning the air from it and leaving me suffocating. All I am anymore is confused. I just want answers, and it's doubtful I'll ever get those answers.

That's one of the saddest parts. The next saddest thing is that no one wants to be allies with the strange girl from 3. Let's face it; I'm no Achilles. I don't exactly jump out and grab people as someone who would make a useful ally. But I don't want to go solo. I've always been rather lonely—and the Games are not a good place to be making friends, but it's better than anything else I have.

I've asked most of the outliers going solo to ally with me and have been rewarded with unanimous nos. I asked Shawn. I asked Fulmina. I asked Melissandre. Heck, I even dared to ask Hydra. Just a parade of no, no, no, no, no. There were a few sorrys in there, but even if you apologize, it's still a no. You're still sending me into the Games alone.

And the last thing I want right now is to be alone. I want to surround myself with people, but I have doubts that any of the already established alliances would want me. I don't want to get my hopes up only to get turned away with empty apologies again. Four times was enough.

…

**Sender: **Silas A. Euphemia (_Head Gamemaker_)

**Receiver: **Graciela F. Purdue (_President of Panem_)

**Subject: **Training Scores

…

**Tribute Name: **Clash Winston

**District: **1

**Age: **18

**Score: **8

**Synopsis: **Clash showed expertise with a spear. He also displayed an affinity and skill with a knife. _Note: Clash likely would have received a higher score if not for his broken wrist. Doctors are unable to mend the bone in time for the Games to begin. _

…

**Tribute Name: **Fragrance Emst

**District: **1

**Age: **16

**Score: **9

**Synopsis:** Fragrance showed off an impressive speed and agility, as well as skill with fist-fighting.

…

**Tribute Name: **Adrian Corvinus

**District: **2

**Age: **18

**Score: **10

**Synopsis: **Adrian showed impressive skill with a sword, as well as speed and swimming skills.

…

**Tribute Name: **Guadalupe Dominguez

**District: **2

**Age: **18

**Score: **9

**Synopsis: **Guadalupe solved a complex mind puzzle as well as showing off her impressive aim with both a crossbow and morning stars.

…

**Tribute Name: **Achilles Spearmen

**District: **3

**Age: **17

**Score: **3

**Synopsis: **Achilles attacked a dummy with a knife, showing less-than-impressive skill.

…

**Tribute Name: **Delta Bishop

**District: **3

**Age: **15

**Score: **5

**Synopsis: **Delta showed off her adequate speed, endurance and agility.

…

**Tribute Name: **Arthur Singlewave

**District: **4

**Age: **16

**Score: **9

**Synopsis: **Arthur showed off fantastic skill with a bow and arrows.

…

**Tribute Name: **Marina Galindez

**District: **4

**Age: **17

**Score: **8

**Synopsis: **Marina showed exceptional swimming abilities and adequate ability with a spear.

…

**Tribute Name: **Connor Merlyn

**District: **5

**Age: **18

**Score: **7

**Synopsis: **Connor proved his intelligence by scoring a ninety-eight-percent on a survival quiz and showed an adequate ability to fight with a knife, as well as mixing a non-lethal poison.

…

**Tribute Name: **Hydra Bekkar

**District: **5

**Age: **14

**Score: **12

**Synopsis: **Hydra lit a fire and spent the remainder of her session insulting us and threatening to burn us alive. _Note: score elevated to make her a target. If not for this, she would have received a two. _

…

**Tribute Name: **Warren Oto

**District: **6

**Age: **18

**Score: **8

**Synopsis: **Warren appeared nearly livid when he came in and proceeded to decimate six dummies, throwing them across the room and ripping them pieces.

…

**Tribute Name: **Mercy Mitsui

**District: **6

**Age: **16

**Score: **8

**Synopsis: **Mercy threw a multitude of knives at targets, hitting dead center, and proceeded to explain how easily she could kill beyond that.

…

**Tribute Name: **Monk Redwood

**District: **7

**Age: **15

**Score: **5

**Synopsis: **Monk adequately camouflaged his arm into a tree and built three subpar snares.

…

**Tribute Name: **Vanye Taller

**District: **7

**Age: **15

**Score: **7

**Synopsis: **Vanye showed prowess and strength with hand-to-hand combat, and subpar survival skills.

…

**Tribute Name: **Carter Sykes

**District: **8

**Age: **18

**Score: **6

**Synopsis: **Carter showed adequate ability to fight a sword and subpar survival skills.

…

**Tribute Name: **Fulmina Athnan

**District: **8

**Age: **17

**Score: **7

**Synopsis: **Fulmina showed off skill with a bow, hit three bullseyes, but never did miss the target.

…

**Tribute Name: **Rylan Darlux

**District: **9

**Age: **16

**Score: **4

**Synopsis: **Rylan snuck into the Training Center, stole a knife from one of the racks, and then politely asked for a low score to appear as a non-threat.

…

**Tribute Name: **Flourish Jemsly

**District: **9

**Age: **17

**Score: **6

**Synopsis: **Flourish showed off adequate fire starting skills, ability to fight with a sickle, and adequate aim.

…

**Tribute Name: **Joaquin Murrieta

**District: **10

**Age: **16

**Score: **6

**Synopsis: **Joaquin showed off impressive speed and abilities to fight with a dagger.

…

**Tribute Name: **Shawn Hamilton

**District: **10

**Age: **16

**Score: **5

**Synopsis: **Shawn showed adequate prowess with a sword and survival skills.

…

**Tribute Name: **Yama Oyeyemi

**District: **11

**Age: **14

**Score: **4

**Synopsis: **Yama threw six knives, hitting one bullseye and missing one as well as parkour skills. _Note: Yama, being deaf, will require a translator for the interviews. _

…

**Tribute Name: **Jayanne Hart

**District: **11

**Age: **18

**Score: **5

**Synopsis: **Jayanne carefully showed an ability to use a mace as well as survival skills.

…

**Tribute Name: **Daniel Hope

**District: **12

**Age: **12

**Score: **3

**Synopsis: **Daniel completed three bug-identifying quizzes, scoring a sixty-three, seventy-eight and a seventy.

…

**Tribute Name: **Melissandre Grey

**District: **12

**Age: **17

**Score: **7

**Synopsis: **Melissandre showed off impressive survival skills as well as an ability to fight with anything and everything sharp.

…

**A/N: Woot, woot! Training is done. Allow me to go scream about how much I hate writing training now. **

**1\. Favorite alliance?**

**2\. Bloodbath predictions?**

**3\. Any surprises in the training scores?**

**4\. Who had the best private sessions strategy?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: kiss, marry, kill: Yama, Hydra, Mercy. **

**My answer: kill…Hydra, marry Yama, kiss Mercy. That way I never have to see Mercy again and Hydra kind of sucks. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**Babysitters' Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Jayanne (D11F), Yama (D11M), Daniel (D12M)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Bloodbath Countdown: three chapters. **

**Fun Fact: before I decided on the Career split, that alliance was going to be called We're Not Volatile This Year. **

**Next up is the interviews (which will be split into two parts, most likely.)**

**-Amanda**


	26. Interviews

_Clash Winston, 18_

_District 1 Male_

I still just can't get over all of this. No, not the Games, but Money. I could play the blame game and say it was all Money's fault, and while it partially is, I still enabled it by not saying no sooner, and now it's too late to go back. At least I know Fragrance doesn't hate me, not in the venomous way Marina does. Guadalupe is a different story, since she doesn't really talk enough to tell me what her opinion on this is. Flourish simply hates us because…she can, I guess? I suppose I haven't paid her much attention; I've been more interested by the actual Career girls.

My prep team tuts about my wrist, saying vehement things about Fragrance and how she should be put to death for forcing this upon me. I want to tell them that it wasn't Fragrance, that it was all Money, but obviously, I can't. I just want them to shut up about Fragrance. She's not a bad person. We're just on opposite sides now, facing each other down as enemies rather than equals.

I do find it slightly humorous that I got the same score as Marina. I'm sure it made her absolutely furious, almost as mad as it made Money. Peridot, thank Panem, shut him down quickly though.

I'm dressed in a blue three-piece suit, my hair slicked back. I don't like the way it feels, stiff and glued into place.

As soon as my prep team is finished, I'm ushered into a limousine with Fragrance, Adrian, Guadalupe, Achilles, Delta, Arthur and Marina. In the darkness in the limo, I can hardly make out anyone's faces, what with the windows blacked out and the only source of light coming from random shafts peering through the moonroof.

Marina appears quietly livid over in the corner, sitting as far away from everyone as she can. She squeezes herself into one of the corners of the car, glaring at anyone who dares to make eye contact with her.

I sigh inaudibly. If I weren't such a gullible idiot, this car would be lively. Delta would be the only one sitting in awkward, tense silence. The rest of us would be talking like normal people, not people who are all out for each other's blood.

The limo pulls up in front of the building in which the interviews will take place. I take a deep breath as I hop out of the car, joining the stream of tributes being herded into the building. I finally get a good look at Fragrance when we get in line, listening to Alistair McKinley greeting the crowd, sounding giddy.

Fragrance's skin is tanner than it was before. Her eyes are pale green instead of the piercing blue I'm used to looking into. Her hair is cut short to her head, a softer blonde than it was hours ago. She's dressed in a short white dress with a black leather jacket over top of it. I notice the black sneakers on her feet and have to bite back a laugh.

Alistair welcomes her onto the stage, and she walks out confidently. "Pleasure to meet you, Alistair," she greets smoothly. "How's life been?"

"Wonderful!" Alistair exclaims. "Tell me, Fragrance—how do you like your chances at Victory?"

Fragrance wastes no time contemplating her answer and says, "Well, of course I think I've got what it takes. I suppose…it all comes down to the arena, yes?"

"Yes," Alistair agrees congenially. "I suppose it does."

"_But_," Fragrance says. "It ain't like I'm going to let that stop me." She flips up the collar of her jacket and winks at the audience, eliciting wild cheers from the brightly-dressed Capitolites. "I've never let odds stop me before."

"Ah, like your choice to volunteer," Alistair says. It certainly isn't a question. "Tell us why you decided to volunteer, Fragrance."

Fragrance shrugs and says gruffly, "'Cause I felt like it, that's why. I definitely ain't got anything better to do with my life. Certainly not staying at home with my lying 'parents'." She lifts her arms and makes air quotes around 'parents'. After a moment she coughs into her hand and says. "_Aunt and Uncle._"

The buzzer sounds somewhere off stage. "Fragrance Emst!" Alistair cries, lifting Fragrance's left arm into the air. The crowd goes wild as Fragrance winks again, walking confidently off the stage.

"And now let's speak to Fragrance's partner, Clash Winston!" Alistair announces.

I force my legs to propel me forward, suddenly feel nerves claw at the insides of my stomach, screeching and tearing at my insides as I force a smile onto my face. "Hey, Alistair," I greet, feeling like I'm not talking loud enough. Do I need to be louder?

"Welcome, Clash!" Alistair exclaims. "So, I think we're all wondering what the story behind that wrist of yours is."

Of course. Fragrance and I rehearsed this so if both of us were asked, our stories would connect. Each of us decided on a little detail that the other wouldn't tell. "See, it was on both Fragrance and me. We both made big mistakes that night, but really, I gotta tell you—it's all a blur. I remember hitting her a few times, and I remember her punching me in the face, and then having Money take me down to the doctor."

Alistair nods. "I imagine it must have been quite the fight. Fragrance must pack quite the punch."

I swallow hard. "Yes, she does. I would really hate to be on the receiving end of her fists."

That gets me a weird look from Alistair. I mentally run over my words, trying to pick out what I said wrong.

Oh…oh, _fuck_.

"…I thought you said it was a fight between you and Fragrance?" Alistair asks skeptically.

"Yes," I say stiffly. "It was."

"But…you said…I don't think I'm quite following here, Clash," Alistair says. "Why don't you—"

Mercifully, the buzzer sounds behind us, and I practically run off the stage to the confused cheers of the Capitolites in the audience. I catch Peridot's eye as I disappear around the curtain. She shakes her head when she catches me looking. I look down at my blue shoes, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. _Great going, Clash! You're more of a fuck-up than I thought you were! _Okay, maybe that's not what Peridot is thinking, but it feels like it is.

Guadalupe is dressed in a poofy, dark purple gown. It has a sweetheart neckline, strategically positioned in a way to cover her breasts. She looks nervous and uncomfortable as she makes her way out onto the stage, holding her hands to her chest.

"Hello there, Guadalupe!" Alistair greets cheerfully.

"Um, hi," Guadalupe mumbles, wringing her hands nervously.

"How are you doing tonight?" inquires Alistair.

"Oh—um, I-I-I'm fine," she stammers, looking out at the crowd with wide, darting eyes. "H-how a-are you?"

"I'm doing great! Thanks for asking," Alistair says with a fake-sounding laugh.

"It's kind of hot on the stage," Guadalupe notes, looking down at her shoes. She reaches up and wipes sweat on her forehead. "I'm really hot."

"In more ways than one?" Alistair questions, leaning forward.

"No!" Guadalupe cries, seeming appalled by the notion. "I'm just…really warm, up here. I-it's probably the s-stage lights."

Alistair nods in a way that tells me he doesn't believe her. "Don't worry, Guadalupe. You don't have to be modest."

"I'm not being modest!" Guadalupe exclaims, horrified. "I'm not—not—not—_attractive_!

I can see men in the audience who appear to beg to differ. I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

"So, Guadalupe, what do you like to do?" Alistair asks, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from that topic.

"I—um, I like to—uh, watch past—past Hunger Games," Guadalupe finally chokes out. "I—uhm, really like the, uh, one-hundred-fifteenth and the, uhm, seventy—seventy-fourth."

Alistair nods. "Yes, those two Games are very interesting to re-watch."

"Yes—yes, they—they, uhm, are," Guadalupe continues to stumble over her words until the buzzer sounds and she staggers off the stage, her face looking rather pale. Fragrance goes to her and asks her if she's okay. I quickly avert my eyes as Adrian takes to the stage.

Adrian is dressed in an all-black, three piece suit. He has an air of confidence around him, carrying himself with assurance and contentment. He amicably greets Alistair with a nod.

"So, Adrian—what do you have waiting for you back home?" Alistair asks, sounding genuinely curious. Somehow I doubt that he actually wants to know.

"Just my brother, Aleksander," Adrian says with a shrug. "But it's not like he's any less motivation to win."

Alistair nods, one hand on his chin. "And a ten in training! The highest in the Careers. Tell us, how did you do it?"

Adrian shrugs again. "I'm no stranger to a sword."

"Ah, so you are a sword fighter!" Alistair exclaims excitedly. "I assume you are impressively skilled…?"

"Yes, obviously," Adrian says with a small laugh. "Not that that is my only skill, of course…" he trails off, making me furrow my brows. What is he playing at?

"I imagine an attractive young man like you must have someone special back home," Alistair offers, folding his hands in front of his chest.

Adrian looks at him oddly for a moment before he says, "No. I have only my brother, Aleksander." He shakes his head. "I don't exactly date. Less heartbreak in case I, you know, don't make it."

"And why wouldn't you?" Alistair asks, once again sounding truly curious. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't.

Again, Adrian looks at him, confused. "Because only one person wins?"

The buzzer goes, and Adrian visibly relaxes. He looks much less confident as he walks off as he did when he walked on. He glances at me when he passes, raising his eyebrows before he disappears behind the curtains, much like Fragrance and Guadalupe had.

I shake my head and let out a small sigh as Delta comes onto the stage, fidgeting with her hands. She's dressed in a short, copper-colored dress covered in intricate white lines. She would be pretty if she wasn't so pale and nervous-looking.

"Hello, Delta," Alistair greets, nodding to her.

"Hi," Delta says in a small voice.

"How are you on this fine evening?"

"I'm f-fine," Delta says, nodding. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing great, thank you for asking," Alistair exclaims, nodding appreciatively. "So, a pretty girl like you must have someone special back home, yes?"

Delta's face lights up. "Yes, I do! His name is Gabriel. His mother is the leader of SALP, and we've been betrothed since we were babies—"

"'Betrothed'? 'SALP'?" Alistair repeats confusedly.

"SALP means 'Sector for a Living Panem'," Delta explains. "And one day, Gabriel and I were going to get married. I'll admit it could have been a tab bit weird, since we've been friends since we were toddlers, but everyone moves past it and ends up happy—"

"Everyone?" Alistair asks, sounding even more confused than before. "What do you mean 'everyone'?"

Delta cocks her head to the side like a confused puppy. "It's just…everyone gets betrothed, right?" She looks out into the audience as if expecting them to be nodding along in agreement.

"…no?" Alistair says.

The buzzer sounds. Delta stalks off the stage, cursing under her breath about Panem knows what, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. As she passes by me, I hear her mutter, "Of course everyone isn't betrothed! That's just another lie that you stupidly believed!"

I shift my focus from her and look to Achilles, dressed in a black suit and combat boots. It's certainly a fashion statement. I cross my arms across my chest, careful to not jostle my wrist.

"Hello, Mr. McKinley," Achilles greets with a small inclination of his head.

"Oh, please call me Alistair," Alistair says, idly waving a hand. "Mr. McKinley is much to formal for me. So, Achilles—I think we are all wondering what spurred you to volunteer."

As if in reply, the crowd cheers loudly. Achilles's face remains stoic. "I had to pay it forward."

"Hm?" Alistair asks. "I don't follow."

"I had to pay it forward," Achilles repeats, more firm this time. "I've been living on borrowed time for years, and it's time I give back what I took."

Alistair nods like he understands, but I can tell from the look on his face that he doesn't. "Very noble of you," Alistair declares, nodding sagely. I roll my eyes. "So, what do you have waiting for you back home?"

"A few friends," Achilles says with a nod. "My mother, of course. My father has been gone for years now, but—"

"No siblings?" asks Alistair.

Achilles is silent for a moment. "No."

"Continue." Alistair nods.

"My father has been gone for years, but I'm going to fight for him," Achilles says, clenching his hand into a fist. "I've got a lot up my sleeve, and I'm going to win for my father."

Alistair continues to nod as the buzzer goes and Achilles walks off the stage. He stops and stands beside me, watching as Marina takes the stage. She wears a long, sea blue dress, dotted with shimmery sequins. "Hey, Alistair," she greets, grinning lopsidedly. "How are things?"

"Good," Alistair says with a nod. _Jeez, does this guy do anything but nod? _I wonder, shaking my head. I glance over my shoulder and see that Achilles has disappeared. "So, Marina…a pretty girl like you _must_ have someone to go home to, yes?" _And ask that question. With the same wording too. Unoriginal. _

"No one that ain't dead," Marina says with a shrug.

"Oh?"

"Name was Caspar," Marina says casually. "Got eaten by a shark."

"Oh!"

"Yeah, it was my fault, too," Marina continues, still appearing nonchalant. She's one damn good actor. Either that or she just really doesn't care.

"Oh."

Marina shrugs again, leaning back. "Don't worry 'bout it, though. I don't worry 'bout it, so you've got no reason to." She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "'Sides, I'm over it. Happened _ages_ ago. No one even talks about it anymore. Shark attacks aren't exactly a novelty in 4."

Alistair opens his mouth to say something else, only to interrupted by the sound of the buzzer. As Marina walks off the stage, she shoves past me, clearly shoving her shoulder into mine on purpose. I glare and take a step away from her, taking my attention away from her and back to the stage.

Arthur is dressed in a blue suit. It's a brighter, more mint-green-ish color than mine is, which is a color I can appreciate.

"Hello, Arthur," Alistair says. "How are you doing tonight?"

Arthur looks at someone in the audience and kind of shakes his head before saying, "I'm fine." He ducks his head, making me suddenly aware of how tight his shirt is across his chest. It highlights his muscles, which can't be incidental—I swallow thickly and draw my eyes back to Arthur's face.

"So," Alistair says, sounding kind of tired. "Do _you_ have someone waiting for you at home?"

"Nope," Arthur says, shaking his head. Alistair visibly deflates. _This guy just…_really_ needs to chill out. _"I've got friends, but no one like that waiting for me." He turns to the audience and winks.

"What would you say is your favored weapon?" Alistair asks. _Wow, he's finally getting creative! _

"Well, I'm no stranger to a bow," Arthur says with a small inclination of his head. "So, yeah, I'll go with that."

"How do you like your chances at Victory?" Alistair asks. _No, he's going back to exactly what he's been asking everyone. Figures. _

Arthur blinks before he says, "I'd say they're pretty damn good, Alistair."

I hear the buzzer go behind me and watch as Arthur walks past me. I shake my head.

As soon as Arthur is off the stage, Hydra is running out to meet Alistair, her angry steps echoing through the auditorium. Her dress is gray and lifeless, and I can see that she ripped off the sleeves, leaving bloody marks in her own skin. I take another step backward, disappearing further back in the shadows in an effort to be as far away from her as I can be.

"Greetings, Hydra," Alistair says, leaning away from Hydra. His voice doesn't waver, but I can tell he's fighting to not sound scared. The thought almost makes me laugh. Hydra is fourteen! She shouldn't be someone to fear, yet she is. "How are—are you doing tonight?"

"I'd be a hell of a lot better if I weren't in your disgusting presence," Hydra snarks, crossing her arms across her chest. She would look remarkably like an indignant child if it weren't for the bloody streaks on her shoulders.

Alistair swallows and says, "So, Hydra—do you have—have anyone special back home?"

"Of course I fucking don't," Hydra growls. "Why the fuck would I? I've been _locked up_ for the past nine months!"

"Oh," Alistair breathes. "Um, okay. Hydra! How do you like your chances?"

"Of what?" Hydra demands sarcastically. "Of course I'm going to win. And then I'm going to burn the Capitol to the ground, and every citizen along with it!" She looks around as if expecting for the crowd to start cheering wildly.

Alistair looks off the stage and makes a motion like he's slitting his own throat. _Cut it off_.

The buzzer goes. I shuffle out of the way, afraid that Hydra might break my other wrist if she spots me. The girl in question growls in anger, knowing her interview was cut short. "Lying assholes," she mutters as she stalks off the stage. She, thankfully, doesn't see me, appearing too absorbed in her nonsensical ramblings.

I relax my posture when Hydra slams the door and disappears into the night.

Connor is dressed in a black suit with an icy blue tie. I can see the reasoning—it brings out of the color in his eyes.

"Hello, Alistair," Connor greets cordially.

"Why, hello, Connor," Alistair says. "So, do _you_ have anyone special back home?"

"I do," Connor says cheerfully. "Her name is Sabrina…and I'm going to win for her. She means everything to me. I love her more than anything else in the world. I don't know what I'd do if I lost her." He beams at the camera, his eyes lighting up with excitement and nervousness. "And…speaking of which, Sabrina, I know you are watching this. Since I could be dead tomorrow, I want to die knowing that I at least asked so…will you…marry me?"

_Ah, and just like that, he has blown everyone else out of the water. Well played, Connor Merlyn. Damn well played. _

The cheers become deafening at his words. After a few moments, Alistair reins them back in. "Well, she must be some girl!" he exclaims. "Especially to get someone as handsome as you, Connor."

"Thank you," Connor says, still looking at the cameras like he's looking into the face of an angel. Maybe he's really seeing his girl's face. "I just hope she said yes!"

"How could she say no?" Alistair asks, rhetorically.

I distantly hear the buzzer sound. Marina has long since disappeared; she probably left after or during Arthur's interview.

Connor's face remains lit up with excitement as he passes me, waving enthusiastically at me as he passes. I gape at his receding back. Does he not know what tomorrow is? Does he not know that he could be dead in less than twenty-four hours? Does he not know that his girlfriend could be widowed before they were even officially married?

Finally I tear my attention back to the stage, which Mercy now occupies. She wears a floor length blue dress with fabric wings curled against her back. Her large dragon tattoo is highlighted by the dress's lack of sleeves. It isn't an ugly tattoo either; it's just ominous, foreboding.

"Greetings, Mercy," Alistair says. The theater is so quiet you could probably hear a pin hit the ground. "So, I've been…hearing rumors of your past." _Finally, he's getting creative again. _

Mercy rolls her eyes, looking almost bored. "Is it because of the tattoo? 'Cause, trust me, it's nothing." She turns out to the audience and winks. I don't exactly know what that means.

"No, no, just…" Alistair trails off before his face suddenly snaps up and he says, "So, Mercy. What do you think of your chances at Victory?"

She laughs, a strange singsong sound that fills with the theater like piano music in a horror movie. "Twenty-four teenagers, and I can kill better than any of them. After all…I'm _experienced_."

Alistair's eyes widen and he cautiously takes a step away from her. "Uhm…oh, ah, okay, then. Do you have any allies?"

"Yeah," Mercy says, rolling her eyes again. "District partner. Warren. Friends since childhood or something of the sort." She looks down for a moment, and then looks over her shoulder at someone on the opposite side of the stage. She glares and mouths something. "Yeah, we met when we were kids. Trust me, though, there's never been any_thing_ between us."

"Ah. Well, that answers my next question," Alistair says, his eyes still slightly wide. The buzzer goes behind me again, and Alistair looks up and mutters something.

Mercy saunters off the stage, passing by me without even second glance. But once she opens the door to leave, she looks over her shoulder, smirks and winks at me. I take a step back, looking at her oddly.

A few moments after Mercy shuts the door, it reopens and Adrian walks in. "Clash, come on. We can't go back to the Tribute Center without you."

"One second," I say, sounding kind of irate. "I want to watch the boy from 6's interview."

"Okay," Adrian says slowly. He walks up next to me and stares out onto the stage.

Warren is dressed in a black suit with a black cowboy. Adrian snorts out a laugh at that.

"Hello, Warren," says Alistair. "How are you tonight?"

"Doing just fine, Alistair," Warren answers.

"I understand you volunteered to protect your best friend, yes?" Alistair asks.

"…yes," Warren says after a moment. "Mercy and I have known each other for years. We've, ah, been friends since we were kids."

"Touching," Alistair says, nodding. "Such loyalty. Since Mercy came here with you, do you have anyone else special back home, waiting anxiously for your return?"

Warren ducks his head and his eyes dart to the ground when Alistair says 'loyalty'. "Just my little sister, Tabitha," he says, his face lighting up. "She—and, of course, Mercy—is the best part of my life. I'm going to win for her."

"How do you feel about being the second volunteer in District 6's history?" Alistair asks.

"Well, if Aspen McCallister could do it…why can't I?"

The buzzer goes, and Warren passes Adrian and I. "Alright, you got your interview," Adrian says, annoyed. "Let's go."

I follow Adrian out the door as the girl from 7 walks onto the stage to general cheers.

_Carter Sykes, 18_

_District 8 Male_

That dress is anything but flattering on Vanye. It's slim and black, but with Vanye's curves…just, no. I'd rather see her in a clown suit.

I can't say I'm not…disappointed. Is that the right word? It's an understatement, but I can't let myself admit how low I'm feeling right now. I have to be upbeat! Happy! Cheerful, good ol' Carter of yore! I don't know how well that is going to work out for me, but I will just have to keep being _happy_. Even if I'm not really happy, it's not like anyone else is going to know.

Connor would—and likely is—be very happy with his girlfriend. And I'm not about to get in the way of a happy relationship like that—I'm not going to be _that_ guy. And Connor probably doesn't even swing my way. That doesn't stop me from being sad, does it?

"How are you doing tonight, Vanye?" Alistair asks.

"I'm doing great tonight, Alistair. You?" Vanye says smoothly, leaning back.

"Quite well, I must say." Alistair nods. "You look quite beautiful tonight, Vanye." _That's a lie. That dress looks terrible on her. _

"Don't I just?" She looks down at herself, her face glowing with pride. Pride I can't exactly place. "What do you think, Ardan?" She asks this to the cameras, a coy smile on her face.

"Ardan?" Alistair asks curiously. "Who is Ardan?"

"He's my _boyfriend_," Vanye replies boldly. "He's the love of my life, and I'm going to win for _him_. I _would_ have proposed…but seeing as someone else already _did_ that, I'm just going to have to settle for how much I love him." She raises her head and levels her eyes with Alistair. "You should see me when I've got my fists going. That's what's going to carry me to Victory."

Alistair nods as the buzzer sounds and Vanye saunters off the stage confidently, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Monk isn't exactly dressed much better, not in my opinion anyway. Seriously, don't these stylists know how to color match? He wears a yellow dress shirt and tan khakis—yellow and tan, really? Ugh…

"So, Monk, what do you think of your chances?" Alistair asks, cutting right the chases.

"I…well, they're certainly not the highest thing I've ever seen, but I guess it could happen…I am more than I appear, I promise," Monk assures, moving his hands as he talks.

"Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?" Alistair asks. "Friends, family, girlfriend, maybe?"

"Oh…well, no, not exactly," Monk says softly. "I don't really have a family; as far as I know, I'm an orphan. And people back home don't really like me…so I don't have any friends, either."

"Unfortunate," Alistair says, his tone saying it is anything but. _C'mon, dude. Have a little sympathy for the guy. _"Truly unfortunate."

The buzzer goes on the opposite side of the stage. I notice Warren standing in the shadows, watching.

Fulmina is wearing a long, dark purple dress. For once, it actually looks pretty damn good on her. _Finally! The stylists have done _something_ right. _

"Hello, Fulmina," Alistair greets. "How are you on this fine evening?"

Fulmina laughs a bit and says, "I'm fine. How are you doing?"

"I'll admit I'm a little bit tired!" Alistair exclaims. "But, other than that, good. So, Fulmina…I understand that your mother is Raia Athnan?"

Fulmina looks down and nods. "Yes." Her voice is snippy and testy.

"I sense some animosity there. Care to elaborate?"

"No," Fulmina snaps. "There's nothing between us. She's not even here."

Alistair seems to take this as a cue to drive the conversation away from Fulmina's mother. "Yes, yes! Your mentors are Koren and Travers Smitty-Perez, recently married? What is your opinion on them?" _Oh, please. That has nothing to do with Fulmina!_

"They're fine," Fulmina says, rolling her eyes. "They're just mentors."

For a moment, the entire theater is silent. Finally the buzzer goes and Fulmina walks away into the shadows on the other side of the stage.

And then my legs are powering forward and sending me onto the stage as if I am controlled by a ghost. Perhaps the ghost of District 8's last male tribute.

"Hiya, Alistair!" I greet as enthusiastically as I can. I can't tell if it sounds forced or not.

"Hey, Carter! Love the enthusiasm," Alistair comments. "So, what do you like to do in your free time?"

"Well…" I say. "you want to know a secret?"

"Yes!" Alistair exclaims.

"My outfit?" I say conspiratorially, gesturing to my clothing, a white shirt and black slacks. "I made it."

"Really?" Alistair asks.

"Yep," I say, leaning back confidently. "Sure took some convincing of my stylist, though."

Alistair nods and opens his mouth to say something else, only to be cut off by the buzzer. I breathe a sigh of relief as I walk off the stage. I think there was a T.V. in the limo.

I pass Warren as I push open the door, half-heartedly waving to him as I pass. I climb into the limousine beside Fulmina, who is also focusing on the interviews on the screen.

Flourish is dressed in a long, teal dress. It has sheens of sparkling tulle layering over each other. It really goes well with her hair. Again, the stylists find something good! I shake my head, grinning a little bit, earning me a strange look from Fulmina.

"Hey, Alistair!" Flourish greets cheerily. There is something forced in her voice that tells me she isn't nearly as happy as she is acting. "Ready to be done with the interviews yet?"

Alistair laughs, waving his hand. "Flourish, tell me, how do you like your chances of Victory?"

"Oh…um, I'd say they're…uh, pretty good," she stammers, looking down at the ground and clenching her hands around the folds of her dress. _Don't do that! You're going to ruin the fabric! _

Alistair seems to sense that she doesn't want to talk about it and asks instead, "Special boy back home?"

"Oh no!" Flourish exclaims, disgusted. "I don't do boys."

"Girls, then? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No, not really…" Flourish trails off, a wistful look in her eyes.

"Oh?"

"I have a crush," Flourish says, blushing furiously. "on a girl back home. But she'll never like me back, not like that."

The one downside to watching it in here and not in the actual theater is that I can't hear the buzzer. But Flourish still leaves the stage after she finishes her sentence.

Rylan is dressed in all black. That seems to be a trend this year. Is black really in or something? To the Capitolites, I mean. Rylan greets Alistair with a simple, "Hey."

"What do you have waiting for you back home, Rylan? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?" Alistair inquires.

"No," Rylan says. "Few siblings, a dad. Other than that, not really."

"No mother?" Alistair asks sympathetically.

"No," Rylan says, with no apparent plan to elaborate.

"How do you like your chances of Victory?" Alistair asks.

"I'd say they're pretty good." Rylan idly picks at a hangnail, looking kind of bored. "I don't want to cocky though." His words are weird. They kind of just sound like background noise. Like something I've heard a thousand times before, and I have a hard time not just tuning him out and ignoring the entire interview.

Rylan leaves the stage to general applause. He gives the audience a little wave as he disappears behind the curtains.

Shawn is dressed in a dark blue dress with reaches just below her knees. The halter top looks pretty good, but there's something that makes Shawn look bad in it. Maybe it's just the way she carries herself, like everyone is about to eat her alive.

"So, Shawn, I think we're all curious what that laughing was about at the Reapings!" Alistair asks, completely neglecting to greet her at all.

Shawn glares at him and says, "My life is just _such_ a shitstorm. Figures that I'd be Reaped, right?"

Alistair doesn't seem to know how to reply to that. After a few moments he clears his throat and says, "So, do you have anyone waiting for you at home?"

"No. Of course I don't," Shawn snaps. "Why would anyone be rooting for me, when they've blamed me for—for—for—" Shawn stammers to a halt, her lower jutting out like she is about to cry. "for my sister's—sister's—sister's _suicide_." For a moment, silence reigns until Shawn starts to cry. The tears leak slowly out of her eyes as she sinks to her knees, her dress splaying around her. A sob chokes its way out of her throat, and she slams her hands over her mouth, letting her tears wet her wrists. "Maybe it is my fault," she mumbles between sobs. "Maybe I am to blame."

Shawn gets to her feet, still sobbing and crying, and stumbles off the stage, even though her time is not up. Alistair steps out of the way, looking at her with surely fake concern. Surely he has had tributes start crying on stage before. Heck, last year was all twelve-year-olds! Someone must have broken down sobbing last year, right?

Joaquin is dressed in a black cowboy outfit. It looks kind of silly, but he seems into it. Good for him, right?

"Hello, Joaquin," Alistair says.

"Hey," Joaquin says, laughing and doing finger guns. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good, pretty good," Alistair says, nodding. He seems to have recovered from the Shawn episode pretty well, and quickly, I might add. "So, you got anyone special waiting for you back home?"

"Aside from my twin sister, Sonja…no," Joaquin admits. He doesn't sound unhappy about it though. "Sonja is all I have, and Sonja is plenty for me."

"That's sweet," Alistair agrees. "How do you like your chances, Joaquin?"

"Well, I'm not really the guy you root for," Joaquin jokes. "I'm more of the guy you root against, know what I'm saying?"

Alistair nods slowly as Joaquin leaves the stage, to be replaced with Jayanne. She is wearing a dark green dress, mended to fit around her stomach. Her face is rosy, with either excitement or nerves, I can't tell. It could be something that comes with pregnancy. Seeing as I have never been pregnant, nor known anyone pregnant, I would not know.

"Why, hello, Jayanne," Alistair greets.

"Hi, Alistair," Jayanne says in a slightly tentative voice.

"So…I think we are all wondering about your baby," Alistair says, looking at Jayanne's bulging stomach. "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Well, not exactly. But I think it will be a girl," Jayanne says, beaming and resting on her hands on her stomach. "Jiro, my husband, and I have been going back and forth on what to name her for weeks. My favorite is Melody. He likes Jessamyn. I also like Orchid. He likes Alexandria. I like Emilia. He likes Lileigh. I don't know how we're ever going to choose!" Jayanne laughs a little before it suddenly fizzles out. "Or…you know…how he's going to choose, if she even survives…"

Alistair looks like he's at a loss. I know he's never dealt with a pregnant girl before. "Um…okay, so I take it you have a special someone back home?"

"Oh, yes. My husband, Jiro," Jayanne says, sniffling. "He's the love of my life. I…I miss him so, so much."

I assume the buzzer goes off, as Jayanne leaves the stage to the applause of the audience. Yama quickly follows, dressed in a shiny gray suit and accompanied by a middle-aged translator.

"Greetings, Yama!" Alistair says.

Yama waves and signs something. The translator says, "Hi, Mr. Alistair!"

"Oh, please, just call me Alistair," says Alistair off-handedly.

Yama nods happily. "Okay!"

"So, I assume you were born deaf, Yama?"

"Yes. So that means I can't be counted out of the running!" Yama's grin spreads wider across his face. There are audible _aws_ from the audience. "I have got to get home to my parents and my siblings! And, of course, the aviary! I've always loved birds."

"Yes, birds are quite pretty," Alistair agrees.

"Birds have always liked me." Yama bounces back and forth on his heels excitedly. "Bigger birds especially! I can even tame them."

"That must be quite impressive," Alistair says.

"It is! That might help me win." Yama winks at the cameras, absolutely beaming.

The buzzer must go off, since the translator ushers Yama off the stage. He is quickly replaced by Melissandre. She's dressed in a knee-length dark blue dress that honestly just looks…weird. Fulmina barks out a laugh from beside me. "She looks ridiculous," Fulmina says, still laughing.

Melissandre herself looks kind of stiff. "Hello, Alistair," she says slowly.

"Hey, Melissandre," Alistair says. "Can I call you Mel? Or Lissa?"

"Um," Melissandre says. "Please not either of those. How about Melissa?"

"That's perfectly fine with me," Alistair agrees. "So, what do you have waiting for you back in District 12?"

"I have my brother, Jaxson, and my best friend, Lyanna," Melissandre explains, still sounding kind of stiff. "You know why I'm going to win? Lyanna's health has been declining, and if I don't, she could die. And Jaxson…well, Jaxson would never survive if he lost both Lyanna and I."

Several people in the audience make sounds of sympathy. Even I find myself looking at her in a different light. Suddenly she seems less the aloof, composed girl who never talked to anyone and more like a girl on a mission. Not that that is going to change my opinion on whether I should win over her, but still.

"That's very unfortunate," Alistair agrees.

"It's not uncommon where I come from," Melissandre says with a shrug. "Lyanna just happens to be sickness's next victim, and I'll do anything to keep that from happening."

Melissandre leaves the stage a few moments later, leaving room for the final tribute of the night, Daniel. He's dressed in a light green suit with little yellow birds on the shoulders. He looks…well, adorable.

"Hiya!" he exclaims excitedly, waving to Alistair.

"Hi, Daniel!" Alistair replies, sounding happy but tired. "What's waiting for you at home?"

"My baby sister, Vinneah! Okay, maybe she's not a baby anymore, but she's six-years-old. I really want to see her again," Daniel explains, beaming. "I'm going to fight for her! I'm going to fight for my parents too, of course—who wouldn't be fighting to get back to their family? I just love my family so much. I don't want Vinneah to be an only child, then she might get lonely!"

I can tell Daniel is playing up the whole 'innocent child' thing. I saw him in training—sure, he's kind of a goofball, but it was nothing like this. I can't really blame him—I'm surprised more kids didn't do that last year.

"So, you think you could win?" Alistair asks.

"Well, Macy Barker did it, didn't she? And so did Rocket Sanchez! And Celinda Oxford—the list could go on, right? If all of them could do it, why can't I?" Daniel asks, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy. It is undeniably adorable.

The little birds on his shoulders bounce around as he walks off the stage. Alistair starts making his closing remarks as Warren pulls open the door of the limousine and climbs in. Fulmina relaxes against the cushions as the car pulls out into the traffic. "Finally," she mutters, looking at Warren. "Took him long enough."

"Anxious for the morning, are you?" I ask, tired.

"No," she snaps. "Of course I'm not. No one is looking forward to it."

"I wouldn't say that," I reply, shifting my position. "I'm sure the Careers are looking toward the morning."

"Whatever." Fulmina turns away, crossing her arms across her chest.

I let my head loll back against the seats. This could be one of the last moments I ever have to relax. I better get used to constantly knowing that I could die any moment.

**A/N: And Clash and Carter are calling me out on my own uncreative writing! **

**1\. Best interview?**

**2\. Worst interview?**

**3\. Best outfit?**

**4\. Worst outfit?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: kiss, marry, kill: Rylan, Jayanne, Connor. **

**My answer: crap that's hard. Um, okay…kill…Rylan, I guess? Marry Jayanne and kiss Connor then. Or more like have an affair with Jayanne, but whatever. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**Babysitters' Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Jayanne (D11F), Yama (D11M), Daniel (D12M)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Bloodbath Countdown: one chapter. **

**-Amanda**


	27. The Last Night of Bliss

_Jayanne Hart, 18_

_District 11 Female_

"I'll probably be dead in less than twenty-four hours."

Meadow looks up as I say this, a fork full of pasta halfway through her mouth. "And…why do you say that?"

"You know exactly what I mean," I say, shaking my head, my eyes downcast. "You can't deny it, Meadow. How many pregnant girls have ever won the Hunger Games? Ah, that's right. None."

Meadow and Brice share a look, Yama remaining blissfully unaware of our conversation.

Brice heaves a sigh and reaches across the table to tap Yama's on the shoulder. Yama looks up from playing with his food to read Brice's lips as he says, "Are you not hungry?"

Yama shakes his head, shutting his eyes for a long second before he finally reopens them. _I'm just going to go to bed. _He pushes back his chair and stalks across the living area, shutting his door behind him.

I vaguely wonder if the next time I see him, like, really _see _him, he could be _dead_. Or maybe I won't see him again, since both of us could be dead. The pregnant girl and the deaf boy. The most hopeless tributes in the entire group. At least all of last year's twelve-year-olds were evenly matched. None of them was carrying a baby.

"Jayanne," Meadow says, shaking her head and leaning over the table. "I see potential in every tribute I've ever mentored—"

"And I'm the one exception?" I finish for her, closing my eyes and resting my head on my hands. "Look, Meadow, you don't have to sugarcoat it. I know I'm going to die. I know my baby is probably going to die along with me. Nothing you will say can change that fact—you know it, I know it, Brice knows it, the entirety of Panem knows it. It's doubtful that anyone outside of my immediate family is rooting for me with any hope for my survival—everybody else isn't blind-sided by love and just knows I'm a dead man walking."

Meadow remains silent as Brice gets up and disappears into his room. "Jayanne, I wasn't planning on lying to you. I like to think I'm a realistic person; I know when there is no hope for a tribute—but no one wants to say it out loud. I don't want to be the bearer of bad news."

"Or death warrants, in this case," I mutter.

"Yes, well, that's not what I meant." Meadow shakes her once more. "Jayanne, I have a young daughter waiting for me back home. I _know_ how terrifying it is to think about losing your child—I think fear it every day. I don't want to lie to my tributes—I care too much to do that but…I could have said I really thought you had it in you. And you have the drive, you just…"

"Are a little pre-occupied?" I offer, gesturing to my stomach.

Meadow sighs. "Yes. And for that, I am forever sorry, Jayanne. I'm sorry that I can't do more for you."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I mumble, but at least I appreciate the sympathy. "It's my fault anyway. I should have just gotten rid of the kid when I still had the chance—"

"It's not your fault, either," Meadow interrupts. She heaves a sigh, folding her hands. "You would have been a great mother."

"I just want the baby to live," I say. "I know Jiro would be a fantastic father, with or without me—I just want him and the baby to get a chance at happiness, you know?"

"I do," Meadow agrees solemnly. "My little girl, Floryn—I would do anything for her. I love her more than anything else in the world, and I can tell you feel the same way about your little girl."

"Is it possible to love someone I haven't even met yet?" I ask, looking down at my stomach. "Because I do."

Meadow smiles sadly for a moment before her face turns stoic again. "I really am sorry that there isn't more I can do for you, Jayanne. If there's one thing I hate, it's wanting to help but being unable to. Even Yama has more sponsors built up than you do." She purses her lips, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "This is the hardest part of mentoring. You know that, most likely, your tributes won't make it out. Brice is the only one I've ever managed to bring home. That takes a heavy toll on your mental state. And I try to not get close to the least-hopeful of them, but I can't help it, you know?"

I nod and afford a small smile. "Just the knowledge that you care is enough for me."

"Some mentors are selfish," Meadow says. "Take Larken, for example. Macy was the first tribute he ever brought home. He was always cut off from his tributes, afraid of getting attached and having to mourn, year after year, without fail. I can see his reasoning—I've considered trying that many times before. But I can't bear to do that to my tributes."

"And I'm grateful," I say. "Really. I am. Still, it isn't going to change anything about tomorrow, you know."

"Of course I do," Meadow says regretfully. "Of course I do."

_Monk Redwood, 15_

_District 7 Male_

I have a splitting headache. A migraine, more of. It feels like someone has driven an ax into my skull—no, don't use that analogy. It just feels like my head is splitting in half. I lay splayed out on my bed, the covers pulled over my head. Light hurts. Sound hurts. Movement hurts. Even _breathing_ hurts.

_Death is impatient._

All the while, a barrage of images, sounds, feelings, smells, the taste of bold in my mouth pounds through my head, screaming and desperately clawing at the sides of my skull in a hasty bid to escape.

"_See, Devlin?" Alizah says, grinning and laughing. Her laugh is pretty. It's a singsong, musical sound. "Isn't this worth it?"_

_I kick at the dirt with my better foot, my eyes downcast. "He's gonna hurt me for this." _

_Alizah reaches out for my shoulder, only to retract it at the last second. _See, Devlin? Even she's disgusted by you_, a voice in my head snickers. "I don't know why you go back there every day, Devlin. You could just walk away. You could come home with me. I've told my parents about you. They would be fine with taking you in, and I promise we have plenty of money."_

_I shake my head, staring down at my feet like they are the most interesting thing in the world. "I don't want to intrude on you."_

I draw in a ragged breath, just wishing I could fall asleep. It would be blissful, an aware state where these memories couldn't follow me.

"_Come home with me, Devlin," Alizah begs, the rain pouring down on my shoulders like hot knives. "Just for one night. Then you can go back to your father. I won't bother you about it again. Just…please, for night? For me?" _

"_I can't," I insist, taking a step away from her. "I'm sorry, Alizah." I turn on my heel and start slogging back through the mud to Father's run-down little shack. _

Tomorrow will be the Games. Tomorrow I will be dead. Tomorrow I'll get the bliss I so long for now. Tomorrow is not scary. No, it can't come soon enough.

"_Alizah Everard!" the escort calls out excitedly. _

_I know that name. That's Alizah's name. That's Alizah's name. That's…Alizah's name. _

_I push forward through the crowds of onlookers, those above and below Reaping Age, emotionless face after emotionless passing by in a blur as I charge to the front, screaming Alizah's name. She can't go! She has to stay here! _

_Alizah is standing on the stage now, facing the escort as she picks a male, her eyes closed and her face like stone. I lean over the railing, reaching pointlessly for her as I feel my father's hand clench around the back of my shirt, pulling me even further away from her. "Alizah," I say one more time before she and her partner are dragged into the Justice Building. _

I can hear voices outside the door. Macy and Larken and maybe even Vanye are talking, too loud, too loud, too loud—

"_Protect him, Angelina," Alizah begs behind the door to her sister. "Please. Convince him to leave his father, tell the Peacekeepers, just keep him safe, please!"_

"_I'll do my best, Liz. You have to as well."_

"_I'm fifteen, Lina! I'm going to die."_

"_Don't say that, please." Angelina's voice cracks as she finishes her sentence. "I love you, Alizah."_

"_I love you too."_

"Is he okay?" I hear Vanye ask.

"Go away!" I cry, immediately clamping my hands over my ears at the intrusion. It hurts, and it hurts way too much.

_I feel Lina's arm wrap around my thin shoulders, and for once I don't flinch. Lina wants to help me. Just like Alizah did. _

Alizah Everard, fifteen-years-old. Placed eleventh in the One-Hundredth-Forty-Six Annual Hunger Games.

_I sniffle and reach out to touch Alizah's cold gravestone. Hestia Olympia just came out of the arena that Alizah deserved to come out of. Maybe I should have taken her up on the offer to come live with her. Maybe none of this would have happened then. _

_I shrug off Angelina's arm and walk toward the fountain in the center of the Graveyard. Every Victor we've ever received has their name engraved in the stone. I trace the words _Larken Atkinson, 135th Hunger Games _with my left pointer finger, wishing Alizah's name was forever written beside Larken's. _

I suck in another haggard breath, clenching my hands tightly around the sheets. "Shut up!" I yell to the trio outside my door, rolling over onto my back. Why won't they just—shut—up?

_I remembered something that morning. A gravestone, the words too blurry to make out. I needed answers. I had to find that gravestone. Maybe they had family still alive that could tell me who I used to be, aside from a bleeding mass on the floor of a dark room. _

_The stones and the names attached blur past. _Isobel MacGregor, eighteen-years-old. Feno Samaha, twenty-nine-years-old. Peia Lupine, nineteen-years-old. Vatican Holloway, six-years-old. Angelina Everard, seventeen-years-old.

_I remembered that story. It came out a few days after I woke up in hospital. Her body was found in the forest, her head tied in a tree but her body on the ground. There were no suspects; it had looked like a violent suicide. She had been found kind of near to where I was found by those Peacekeepers—I had often wondered if the incidents were connected. _

Vanye bangs open the door at that moment, flooding my room with light. A stab of white-hot pain bursts through my head, and I pass out.

**A/N: Alright, who's looking forward to the Bloodbath? I know I am! With any luck, it will be out in the next few hours. **

**1\. Is Jayanne justified in her lack of hope?**

**2\. Does Monk's backstory make any sense, or are you completely lost?**

**3\. Are you looking forward to the Bloodbath?**

**4\. Final prediction time! Bloodbaths and final eight?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: Kiss, Marry, Kill: Carter, Flourish, Joaquin. **

**My answer: Kiss Carter, marry Flourish, kill Joaquin. **

**Also, this isn't exactly a submitter check-in, but it's just something I'm curious about that I neglected to put on the form. So, please do me a favor and pm or drop a review about your tribute(s)' sexual preferences. Obviously, if it was already specified on the form, you don't need to (like on Carter's form, it said he was gay.) Thanks!**

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**Babysitters' Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Jayanne (D11F), Yama (D11M), Daniel (D12M)**

_**District 7 Pride! Again!: **_**Vanye (D7F), Monk (D7M)**

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**-Amanda**


	28. Day 1 - Those Unseeing Eyes

_Macy Barker, 13_

_Victor of the 150__th__ Annual Hunger Games_

I lift the mug of steaming coffee up to my lips, ignoring the way it slightly burns my tongue. I look at Larken through the steam, trying to read his expression. Is he as nervous as I am about this? Surely not. This isn't his first rodeo. It's his…what, fifteenth? And it's the first time he doesn't have Cypress by his side.

Then, of course, there's the matter of Monk Redwood.

I would have been about six years old when he was found. I wasn't exactly paying attention to the news of kids with head injuries and no memory of how it happened being found in the forest.

But when he asked Larken if he'd ever mentored a girl named Alizah Everard…yeah, I remembered that. I was only five years old, but the main reason I remember it so well is because this kid in my class's older brother Barker had been Reaped and his name was also my last name…Alizah had made it further than thirteen-year-old Barker though.

Monk assured us it was just a migraine, that he got those sometimes, result of the head injury. But I figured it was something more like the other night, when he kept saying that word over and over again.

I put the mug back to my lips again, taking a long sip.

The mentoring room is alive with slightly nervous chatter as I follow Larken inside. I slide into one of the seats at District 7's table, looking at all the screens in front of me. "Um…" I say, setting down my cup.

"I know that's a lot of screens," Larken agrees, reclining in his seat with a look of boredom on his face. Both of our tributes could be dead in an hour hence, and he has the audacity to look _bored_? That's hardly a way to honor Vanye and Monk. "There's hardly anything on them when the Games are actually going. We mostly watch the big screen at the front of the room." He indicates said screen with his coffee mug, sending a few drop tumbling listlessly toward the table. Sighing, he wipes them away with the sleeve of his shirt.

I put my hands around my mug, trying to warm them up. The screen currently displays the seal of Panem, flopping around like it's on a flag. I let out a sigh and take another sip of my coffee.

Larken laughs a little bit and says, "You know, last year I told Cypress 'we're going to need a lot of coffee. I think we might be here a while.' I don't think that's going to be the case this year."

"Larken!" I exclaim. "That's rude."

"Ah, come on, Mace. It's not like Monk or Vanye will ever know." He turns his attention back to the screen, smugly taking a long sip from his mug. I notice he's using the mug I got him for his birthday a few months back. It says, _Note to self: chill the fuck out_. I got it as a joke and expected he would throw it against the wall or something. But he uses it religiously.

Suddenly the screen lights up as the tributes slowly rise into the arena. First the camera pans over head of the twenty-four figures standing around the shiny golden Cornucopia, overflowing with supplies. The area around the tributes is fairly barren. A wooden boardwalk stands a few feet behind the northernmost tributes, a large steaming hole in the ground beyond that. To the south, east and west stand brown wooden buildings, a completely empty enormous black top square further away than that. Woods ring the whole place, with mountains not very far off and bubbling river cutting a line through the ground.

It looks like a fairly normal forest, aside from the black-top square and the buildings. And maybe the steaming hole in the ground. Yeah, that's a little weird.

Different tributes' faces flash across the screen. Melissandre looks calm and determined. Arthur's gaze is set on the only visible bow in amongst all the supplies. Daniel looks afraid, but his face remains stoic. Rylan's face is completely emotionless. Hydra looks livid, her arms and shoulders shaking with rage. Jayanne isn't even facing the camera. She is looking at one of the buildings, her clear destination. Monk's face is pale and his eyes are closed. Fulmina is looking at Hydra, who stands beside her, with apprehension.

I take a deep breath through my nose. I'm almost as nervous as I was a year ago, when I stood in a volcanic wasteland in my tributes' place. I try to remember who stood beside me—Jaz to my right, Myrian to my left.

"_60…59…58…57…56…55…"_

The voice of Orion Garnet is an unwelcome one. All it does is serve as a reminder of my time in the arena.

"_48…47…46…45…44…"_

I shakily put my mug back to my lips, feigning taking a sip. Instead I look around at the other mentors. Money looks tired. Peridot looks annoyed. Hestia and Varen are sitting as far away from each as they can. Rocket looks half-asleep, while Thalia's face is focused on the screen. Chance and Alec are holding hands, both of their knuckles white. Solaryn has his feet on District 5's table, earning him a reproachful look from Ave. Kasumi is nervously biting her nails, while Dixie looks at her with deadened eyes. Koren and Travers are silent, as if already mourning for the tributes they will undoubtedly lose. Iara and Gracyn have looks of varying degrees of indifference on their faces. Celinda appears hungover, and Rhett just looks like he wants a nap. Meadow is already crying, silent as Brice sits beside her, unaware as he reads a book. Kalina, sitting alone at 12's table, looks completely done with the situation.

All of them have done this before. All of them have some sort of experience, even Kasumi and Brice and Iara and Hestia. I may as well be sitting as alone as Kalina is.

"_33…32…31…30…29…28…27…"_

I finally set down my mug, thinking about how this is the longest minute in my entire life.

"_25…24…23…22…21…20…19…"_

Larken reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Ready yet?" he asks quietly.

"No," I say shakily, warming my hands on my coffee mug again. It's gone cold.

"_14…13…12…11…10…9…8…7…"_

My heart hammers in my chest like I'm the one about to die, not my tributes. I push away my coffee, looking at the words scrawled on the mug. _Some people just need a high five. In the face. With a chair. _Maybe whoever who came up with the Hunger Games needs one of those.

"_4…3…2…1…Let the 151__st__ Annual Hunger Games begin!"_

At that moment, water blasts out of the steaming hole, making half the tributes jump. A good twelve of them don't even move, too shocked by the sudden intrusion. I see both Flourish and Arthur going for the bow. Delta is already disappearing into the woods to the east.

Hydra Bekkar is not one of them. She bounds off her pedestal and the next second her body is just a gory mess on the ground, blown to bits. The mines went off. After the gong rang.

Fulmina lays a few feet beside her, moaning in pain, a bloody stump where her right arm used to be. She was caught in the explosion…or did she trigger one of the mines?

The mentoring room is so quiet one could hear a pin drop. Finally, after a moment, Koren stands up despite Travers's protests and says in a low voice, "Excuse my French, but…what the fuck just happened?"

"That's not French," Iara chirps, seeming unfazed by the explosion of Hydra and Fulmina.

I steal a glance at Ave and Solaryn. Neither of them seem worried or unhappy. Hydra was unstable, I heard…but still, she's dead? Have a little sympathy?

Jayanne, moving as fast as she can with her stomach, has already disappeared toward one of the buildings, Rylan on her tail with two bags of supplies. Most of the tributes have recovered from the water explosion, but have not recovered from the Hydra explosion. Tentatively, Vanye, from beside Hydra's gory remains, puts one foot on the ground.

Nothing happens.

She runs forward at that, prompting every other tribute to start to move as well. I notice Flourish has snatched the bow Arthur was looking at earlier, now sporting a nice gash across her left shoulder.

Fulmina's eyes have gone glassy, staring at the sky without seeing it. It's clear to see that she's dead.

The cameras now focus on Adrian, standing in the Cornucopia, hefting a large sword. Vanye stands behind him with an ax poised to attack, slowly inching toward him over the sand. Her eyes are wide, as if she is considering dropping the ax and running.

_Do it, Vanye. Run. Please, _I beg in my head, knowing she will never hear this things.

She swings at the same moment that Adrian ducks, whirling around and stabbing his sword into Vanye's neck. She collapses to the ground in a heap, gurgling on her own bloody. I gasp, jumping to my feet. Larken grabs my hand tightly, which I can tell is more for my benefit than his.

Meanwhile, poor Daniel has been cornered against the cold metal of the Cornucopia by none other than Mercy Mitsui. Mercy holds two long knives, a terrible smirk on her face. Daniel is shaking violently with terror, holding his hands up over his face to protect himself.

It doesn't do anything. Mercy still stabs him, once, twice, thrice, in the chest. He slides down the Cornucopia, dead, but Mercy keeps stabbing him. Over and over again the knives hit his chest, until Warren, toting a large backpack, grabs the collar of Mercy's jacket and pulls her away from Daniel's bloody corpse.

I fight off a gag as the camera zooms in on Daniel's still wide eyes, flecks of blood all over his face.

Monk is the only tribute still standing on his pedestal, looking around with wild eyes.

"Goddammit, Monk, move!" I shout, knowing full well that he can't hear me. Varen glares at me and tells me to sit down. "Fuck off," I growl in reply.

Finally Monk steps off his pedestal and runs toward the Cornucopia. _No, idiot! The other way! _I think desperately, watching in horror as Fragrance lobs a knife at Adrian, missing by a mile and becoming lodged in Monk's chest. He gasps, his face draining of the little color it had retained and collapses to the ground. He fights for breath for a few horrible moments before his hands drop back against the ground, limp.

He's dead.

I stare forward blankly, barely registering what's happening on the screen. Now the cameras are focusing on the bid of Joaquin to escape the Bloodbath. His shoulder accidentally slams into Marina's back.

Marina whips around, and before I can even blink, Joaquin falls to the ground, choking on his blood, a red cut along his throat. He coughs violently, his eyelids half open—and then his eyes draw closed and he dies.

The outliers have scattered by now, leaving us with just the two Career packs, having a stand-off in front of the Cornucopia.

But it doesn't matter. None of it matters. Monk and Vanye are both dead. My first year of mentoring is a complete and utter failure. In the first five minutes, in the chaos that ensued, I lost my first tributes.

Is this how it's going to feel every time?

I get to my feet and run out of the mentoring room.

_Achilles Spearmen, 17_

_District 3 Male_

"Fuck off before we kill you," Marina snarls, brandishing a spear, the head already coated in blood. "Because I'll do it. I've always said I don't hold grudges, but you asshats make it easy."

"What does it matter?" Clash asks, holding a similar spear to Marina's, minus the blood.

The metallic smell of blood floods my nostrils. I spot the barely-recognizable corpse of Daniel, covered in blood, leaning against the Cornucopia. A few feet away from him lays Monk's remains. Fulmina, missing her arm, lays splayed out on the grass beside what used to be Hydra Bekkar, and is now just a puddle of blood and general gore.

"We want pick of the supplies," Marina replies curtly. "Simple as that."

"Except it's not simple," Adrian answers annoyedly. "'cause we _also_ want pick of the supplies."

"Marina, let's just go," Flourish says, tugging on the sleeve of Marina's jacket.

Marina ignores her. "You guys wanna go? Then let's go."

Flourish tugs harder on Flourish's sleeve, glancing disgustedly at Fulmina's corpse, wrinkling her nose. "Marina, let's _get out of here_."

Marina turns around to reprimand Flourish, leaving her back completely bare. _Kill her, Achilles, _says a voice in my head. _Just do it now. The others will run if you kill her. Come on! Man up! Kill her! _

I carefully lift my knife, considering the pros and cons. Pro: Marina dies. Con: I could die as well. Pro: I prove myself as strong. Con: I have to own up to ending someone's life.

Before I can sort out my own problems, Marina whips around, her spear suddenly resting against my chest. "Move a muscle, Three, and I'll push."

"Fuck off!" Arthur shouts, shoving his shoulder into Marina's back and her throwing her off of me. He points a small knife at her with slightly shaky hands, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape.

"You're all insane!" Marina yells.

"We're insane? You're insane!" Arthur counters angrily, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. "Now, like I said, _fuck off_."

"You first," Marina says curtly, climbing gracefully to her feet, hand still clenched around the handle of her spear. "The Cornucopia is _ours_."

"Good luck with that," Clash growls, lifting his spear and pointing it at Marina.

"Broken wrist boy is going to come at me with a spear," Marina says, rolling her eyes. "I'm terrified."

Flourish grits her teeth and grabs Marina's spear, trying to pull it away from her. "Let's go, before you make any bad decisions and get the rest of us killed."

Marina scoffs. "Since when have you cared about that?"

She and Flourish continue to argue, her back once against turned to me. _Kill her, Achilles! It would be so easy, so simple. Just man up and stick the knife in her back! It's nothing! _

I glance at Arthur and see him barely shaking his head, looking at me nervously. Finally he mouths, 'You'll get all of us killed.'

I drop my knife. He's right.

"Agh!" Flourish cries in anguish. She turns around, stalking away from the Cornucopia and toward the boardwalk. After a moment, Guadalupe hesitantly follows her, glancing over her shoulder every other moment.

Fragrance shakes her head. "So, Marina. You coming or are you going to let the boys rip you to shreds?"

Marina mutters something, throws us one last glare, and follows her allies.

_Warren Oto, 18_

_District 6 Male_

Each switchback is another moment of disappointment, a reminder of how much further we have to climb to reach something useful. The sun beats down on our backs as we climb higher and higher. The water-hole-thing is still steaming, just a quiet billow that blows out across the plain in the slight breeze.

We crossed a wooden bridge across a river a while back, when the Bloodbath was still going on. I steal a glance back at Mercy, her face and clothing splattered with Daniel's blood. Her hands are occupied with those same two knives she stabbed Daniel to death with.

I swallow and look away.

The sun is completing its arc across the sky, which makes no sense, since the Games always start at ten a.m. I don't really mind, however. It's beastly hot out here, and hiking in one-hundred-degree weather is not exactly ideal.

Not only that but the backpack I snagged from the Cornucopia is heavy. I have no clue what's in it, but it better be something good for how hard it is to carry this thing up here.

We continue to trudge on in silence until we finally reach a clearing at the top of the mountain, overlooking the steam hole and the Cornucopia. There are a few wooden benches pressed up against the rest of the mountain.

I spot four little figures wandering around by the Cornucopia. Further away from them, to the east, are another four figures. The bright red of one of them tells me this is the Career girls, which means the boys got control of the Cornucopia. I don't know if this is good or bad. Is anything good in the arena, though? I'm going to go with bad.

Mercy is sitting on one of the benches. When she catches me looking at her, she growls, "What?"

"You…um, have blood on your forehead," I say. I'm no stranger to blood. I've seen a fair share of my own in the past few years. It feels different when you know the blood is that of a now-dead twelve-year-old boy.

She reaches up and wipes her sleeve on it.

"It's dry," I deadpan.

"Then there's nothing I can do about it," Mercy says tersely. "What? You expect me to waste _water_ on your comfort?"

I look down at the backpack in my lap, silent. I unzip the pack and start taking items out. A full bottle of water. A packet of jerky. A half-full bottle of iodine. An extra pair of gloves. A box of matches. A small knife, which I quickly pocket before Mercy can see it. The less weapons she has, the better. A bag of dried fruit.

With all the supplies laid out in front of us, it doesn't look like much. Hardly enough for two people to live off of for weeks. But, there is iodine, and a river. We can get more water. Food might be harder. I've hardly seen any plants that might be edible, and not a single animal, either.

Suddenly I'm wishing I had spent more time at the edible plants station.

Mercy takes a sip from the water bottle. "What do you think that kid's family are doing right now?" She laughs as if she just told a great joke.

"Probably crying and cursing your name," I mumble.

"Growing a spine, are you?" Mercy says in place of being angry. She laughs again and scoffs. "'Bout time."

"Why are you so happy?" I ask, looking out at the setting sun. It really is a fantastic sunset.

"I killed the only twelve-year-old in the Games, Oto!" Mercy exclaims. "I have every right to feel pride."

"Congrats," I say quietly. "You're a psychopath."

"Say that again, and you might just find a knife in your mouth," Mercy growls in a low voice, her eyes narrowed.

Even though I don't want to die, and know that Mercy is perfectly capable of killing me in a second, I say, "That sounds like a very inefficient way to kill someone."

"Shove it hard enough, and it won't be a problem," Mercy snarls. "Put it down the throat, or push it into the head, and they'll be dead in a second. Of course, you could carve out their mouth if you want to make them _really_ suffer—"

"Why do I get the idea you've done that before?" I murmur, turning back to the sunset.

"What an astute observation," Mercy deadpans, sounding annoyed.

_Alright, Warren! Time to shut up before she actually _does_ put a knife down your throat!_

I don't know what's gotten into me in the past few days. Maybe it's just the fact that I could very well die in the coming weeks. Maybe that's just weighing down on my conscious and making me do stupid things. But I have never exactly been the smartest person in the room.

**A/N: Eyyyy, bloodbath's done! I'm not very happy with this chapter, but I guess I'm too lazy to re-write it! Yay for being lazy!**

**1\. Saddest death?**

**2\. Guesses about what the arena is (hint: it's in Wyoming)**

**3\. Was Achilles right to not kill Marina?**

**4\. Is Warren going to get himself killed saying those things to Mercy?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: predictions as to who will die next?**

**My answer: can't say, rip. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**(Remaining) Babysitters' Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Jayanne (D11F), Yama (D11M), **

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Loners: Melissandre (D12F), Delta (D3F), Shawn (D10F)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**24****th**** Place – Hydra Bekkar (D5F). Killed by 'faulty' mines after the gong rang. Submitted by Sparky She-Demon. **

**Ah, Hydra, my favorite little psychopath. You sure got up to a lot **_**mischief**_** before the Games began, but you were never meant for anything beyond the Bloodbath. You were crazy, bloodthirsty…exactly the opposite of what most rebellious tributes are, which is definitely something I can appreciate. I can't say I'll miss **_**you**_** as yourself, but I will miss writing your insanity. **

**23****rd**** Place – Fulmina Athnan (D8F). Bled out after arm was blown off. Submitted by The Utter Happenstance. **

**Fulmina, where to begin? I know some people really liked you, but I never felt like I connected with you. I always felt like I was writing you wrong, and it bothered me to no end. For another thing, I had no ideas for an arc for you aside from having you go completely insane, which I've already done before. I didn't really want to just rinse and repeat the same formula, so this is where you fall. I think it makes sense from Graciela's viewpoint, at least. Get rid of the two most problematic tributes at once. RIP. **

**22****nd**** Place – Vanye Taller (D7F). Stabbed in the neck by Adrian Corvinus (D2M) with a sword. Submitted by Guesttwelve. **

**Vanye was a pretty cool gal. I never really used her tantrums in a way that would have been interesting outside of her intro, mainly because I couldn't find a way to put it in without making her seem overly childish and annoying. Still, she had a cute relationship with Monk, which I didn't touch on very much. She kind of took a backseat to Monk and all the stuff going on in his head, but I still will miss her. RIP. **

**21****st**** Place – Daniel Hope (D12M). Stabbed in the chest by Mercy Mitsui (D6F). Submitted by Annabeth Pie. **

**Oh, Daniel. Such a sweet one you were. A little goofball who just wanted to go home and live out the rest of his days with his little sister. The one who put together one of the biggest alliances in the Games. At least you were correct when you knew you wouldn't win, not over someone like Rylan. And now little Vinneah will hardly remember having an older brother. RIP. **

**20****th**** Place – Monk Redwood (D7M). Stabbed in the chest by Fragrance Emst (D1F). Submitted by Sparky She-Demon. **

**Saddest death in the whole thing, I have to say. Monk is one tribute I took and ran off into the sunset with, more than any other tribute I've ever written. He was such a unique guy, but I could never see him as a Victor, and he was submitted as a Bloodbath, which was sort of the last nail in the coffin. Still, I loved Monk. It's easy to see from his nighttime POVs about his past, which I will try to explain at some later point. Seriously though, Monk was honestly just…awesome? I guess that's the right word. I always looked forward to writing him, and out of any tribute I've killed in this story or in the last, he will be the one I miss writing the most. RIP. **

**19****th**** Place - Joaquin Murrieta (D10M). Throat slit by Marina Galindez (D4F). Submitted by Sparky She-Demon. **

**Joaquin is one tribute I have never really connected with. He was, for one thing, the last tribute submitted to this story, meaning he is the one I've had the least amount of time with. He was submitted as a bloodbath, and I never saw him as someone who could go further anyway. He was the most normal guy in the entire Games, which is again something I can appreciate. Sometimes normal tributes are just as good as the crazy ones. RIP. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Mercy: 1 (Daniel)**

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**New poll on my profile! **

**-Amanda**


	29. Day 2 - Answer Me

**TW for suicidal thoughts and contemplations.**

_Yama Oyeyemi, 14,_

_District 11 Male_

For once in my life, the silence is weighing heavily on my shoulders. It holds me down, hunching me over as if I have a pound of bricks on my back.

Jayanne is exhausted, having clearly not slept a wink last night. We left her back at our 'camp' while Rylan and I go exploring—it doesn't feel safe, not to me, not to Jayanne, not to Rylan, but what choice do we have? We have only so many options.

I didn't sleep much either. I've never felt scared in the silence before, but now that changes. Now I know that I could wake up to both of my allies dead and be completely unaware as the deed was done.

Rylan's optimism had been short lived. He assured us that Daniel probably got lost, that he was fine, that we'd find him in the morning. But I had found a window and confirmed that Daniel was, indeed, deceased. At least receiving a sponsor gift a few minutes later was slightly uplifting—a notepad and a pen.

I'm officially the youngest tribute in the arena. That's a scary thought. Sure, Macy Barker won last year. But that was all twelve-year-olds. That's _different_. It was going to be a twelve-year-old no matter who it was.

Being indoors has never been my favorite, but at least now I can press my back up against a wall and have one part of my body covered. The paranoia is already getting to me. Wandering through this empty building in complete silence, whether accompanied by my allies or not, is eerie. I don't like.

About an hour ago, Rylan and I discovered a museum in our current dwelling. I spotted a timer that was counting down to something—we're still not sure what—and a bunch of dusty pamphlets beside it.

"What's that one say?" Rylan asks, handing me a pamphlet.

I flip through it, skimming the pages and looking at all the pictures.

_Yellowstone National Park, located mostly in Wyoming, but bleeding partially into Montana and Idaho—_

I've never heard of any of those places before. Is that what was here before Panem? Before the Great Disaster? We don't learn about that stuff in school. It's deemed unfit for the citizens by the Capitol.

I start signing out the words only to remember Rylan doesn't understand sign language. I pull out the notepad and write out the words.

As I turn the pad to face Rylan, he squints at another pamphlet and opens his mouth in a silent laugh. He shakes his head and says, "I can't believe this stuff. I mean, what even _is_ a geyser?"

I shrug. I don't know what a geyser is. I peer over Rylan's shoulder to read from his pamphlet, curious.

_One of the most famous geysers is Old Faithful, seated just outside our front doors. It goes off about once every hour, and is connected with the same network as every geyser, hot pot and hot spring is: the Yellowstone volcano. It has been 630,000 years since the last eruption, but no one really knows when it will go again. The last three big eruptions at Yellowstone were 2.1 million, 3.1 million and 630,000 years ago. At intervals of 800,00 and 670,000 years, as of yet, the current interval is long from completed. _

I look at Rylan in horror. A volcano? Like last year's volcanic arena? Is that what this place is about to become? What will happen if it does? Will it kill us? They have to have a Victor, right? They can only kill twenty-three of us in a volcanic explosion, right?

"Let's go find Jayanne," Rylan suggests, pocketing the pamphlet. I remain stationary for a few moments, watching as the large _9_ emblazoned on the back of Rylan's jacket grows smaller as he walks away. After a moment he glances over his shoulder and says something that I can't read. But I get the gist.

I grab a few more pamphlets and hurry to meet up with Rylan.

We walk quickly through the building until we reach the staircase. It has a loose sign nailed to the door saying _Employees Only_. I've seen a few of those back in 11, in stores. But it's not like it matters here. There's no employees to kick us out.

Jayanne isn't asleep like I hoped she would be. She is seated below one of the dust-covered windows, her hands resting on her stomach. She looks downright miserable.

Many things hang unsaid in the air between the three of us as Rylan passes out pieces of dried jerky. I watch Jayanne reluctantly take it from Rylan, staring at it for a few moments before she opens her mouth. "Don't waste food on me, Rylan. We all know I'll be dead soon. You too should keep it for yourselves, since you actually have chances to go home."

Rylan and I look at each other out of the corner of our eyes. Rylan turns back to her, heaves a heavy sigh, and takes the jerky back. He slides it back into the packet and turns to me. "We should move on soon. We're too close to the Cornucopia. The Careers are bound to come looking soon, especially since they probably saw us heading this way."

I nod, dejectedly taking a bite of jerky. I finish it off and pull out the notepad. _Let's go out the back door, loop around and see if we can reach those mountains._

"Sounds good to me," Rylan agrees with a shrug. He turns to Jayanne and says something like, "Agreed?"

Jayanne nods, sinking lower in her seat and rubbing her stomach. She told us she was due on Day 3. Tomorrow. As I survey, I can't help but wonder if she'll live past her labor.

_Flourish Jemsly, 17_

_District 9 Female_

I don't know what made me do it. I don't know what being possessed me and made me pull Marina out of there. I could have left her there to die. I could have just walked away. I could have walked and walked and walked until I could no longer stand again and would just drift off into nothingness.

But I didn't. And still, there is some animalistic need in my body, driving me to live longer, to pull in another breath and take another sip of water. We have a full bottle of iodine. I could down it in a moment and be dead before Fragrance, Guadalupe or Marina even noticed. I could simply drift off into oblivion, never to worry about the problems a Victor faces.

But again, I don't. There is something that tells me to keep going. There is something that pushes me onward, a little voice in my head urging me forward. It tells me to take another step, to put down the iodine, to keep a hold on my sanity and push through the woods. _Soon you'll be safe_, it tells me. _Gracyn and Iara could protect you. Perhaps Graciela will change the policy. She seems like a reasonable woman, doesn't she? _

There's another voice that tells me that that is not how it's going to go. If it was, wouldn't Iara not have had an appointment that night? Wouldn't Graciela have already ended it?

Still, with every step Marina takes, the iodine bottles bounces around, attached to a loop on her backpack. It looks tempting, so tempting. I could reach for, carefully take it off the loop, uncap it…and chug it in one go. It would be so _simple_.

The sun is burning the back of my neck, making me regret my decision to pull my hair up. I could take out the band but then I could lose it and be stuck with a mess of hair for the rest of my life. Call it shallow, but since I'm going to die, I'd rather not look like a wreck. If at all possible.

I draw my eyes away from the iodine bottle and look at my feet. The sturdy, thick toed boots do well to cover up for the fact that I have enormous feet, but it's still blaringly apparent. I give my head a slight shake, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jacket.

The ground is wore black-top. A road. We came out of the woods a while back and stumbled across it. We've been walking for about five hours after camping for the night a ways back. I don't know where we're going. I doubt Marina does either.

Marina is a bit of an enigma to me. Sometimes she seems nice, laid back, even. But most of the time she is cold, almost aloof. I don't know what's up her ass, but it's never going to matter to me. I'm not leaving here. I'll die here in a strange, foreign wilderness, surrounded by a group of girls I've known for a week.

Not exactly the way I expected to go out, but tributes can't be choosers.

We walk on in silence for a while before Fragrance finally seems to get fed up and says, "Can we talk? I don't care about what, but I don't want to walk in silence any more. It's bothering me."

I silently agree with her. "Sure we can. You read any good books recently?"

Fragrance laughs. "Sorry, Fleur, but I don't really read."

Guadalupe starts talking while I try to figure out if 'Fleur' is Fragrance's nickname for me or if she just forgot my name. I'd prefer to just be called '9' or even just 'hey, you!' if the latter is the case. "I was reading this one written by Saior Waller—you know, that Victor from 4? The one from the 119th Games?"

"Oh, yeah, I've heard of her," I amend, nodding. "She writes a lot, yeah?"

"A ton," Guadalupe agrees, smiling timidly. "I've read all of her books. My favorite is _When the Wind Whistled_. It has nothing to do with the Games, but it's just a sweet story, you know?"

"I've never read that one," I say. I frown and look back at my shoes. "What's it about?"

"A fictional girl from District 8 named Ever that has to watch her boyfriend go through the Games and eventually die." Guadalupe grins as she finishes her sentence, her voice laced with excitement I haven't heard from her before.

Doesn't sound like a very sweet story to me. But I have a feeling that telling that to Guadalupe is not a very good idea. "That sounds cool."

"Can you all just _shut up_?" Marina exclaims.

We all look at her oddly, stopping in our tracks. At last I speak up. "What's the problem?"

"This is the _Hunger Games_," Marina says, talking with her hands whipping around her exasperatedly. "It's not a book club! We're not sitting around a table with mugs of coffee in warm sweaters with a fire crackling beside us! Don't you know that all of us could be dead in literal seconds?"

Silence.

I cough into my hand and say, "So? There's nothing stopping us from having a normal conversation. We are allies, after all—"

"Oh, please," Marina says, sounding overly annoyed with the world. "We could end up killing each other in the coming weeks. And you guys want to talk about _books_, of all things?"

"Alright, back to silence then," Fragrance says pointedly.

We start to walk again.

The silence feels charged, the tension in the air palpable at the least. My eyes dart around, trying to find a point to comfortably fix on. Finally, they settle on a mountain in the distance. I think I can see a waterfall on it.

"So do you have a boyfriend? Or a girl, if you swing that way?" Guadalupe randomly exclaims to me.

"Um…no. Boys aren't really my thing."

"Girls, then?"

"Oh—well, no, not really," I mumble, averting my eyes from her face.

"I don't have one either," Guadalupe answers, clearly in an attempt to make me feel better. "Dating isn't really my area either."

"Can you all just shut up?" Marina says, glaring at us over her shoulder. "This is getting seriously ridiculous."

"Deal with it," I answer casually, shrugging. "Unless you want to kill all of us and be alone, you're just going to have to put up with us."

Marina seems to seriously consider it for a moment before she rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. She turns away and continues forward.

_Delta Bishop, 15_

_District 3 Female_

The forest stretches out in front of me, an endless abyss of trees, leaves and plants. Completely uncharted territory for a girl from 3 like me—or anyone from 3, I would expect, but what do I know?

That's right; nothing.

I continue to push forward, my feet screaming at me to stop and wait. Yet I continue to ignore my angry muscles, propelling myself forward upon sheer will alone. I'm not cut out for the arena, not someone who can easily survive it. That will not stop me from fighting tooth and nail to return—for nothing but answers.

And…well, maybe a little bit Gabriel.

Together we can find answers if I get home. If I complete a final task of worthiness, then I can return to District 3 and search for answers with Gabriel.

I just need answers.

As I stumble my way through the forest, wondering where exactly I am in relation to the Cornucopia, the wooden buildings, the…anything, really, I just wish for answers. Answers I likely will never receive. I could reach the final twelve, the final eight, the final four, the final two, and still manage to lose. I don't want that. I don't think anybody wants that. Everyone in this arena should be able to agree on that. We don't want to die, so we fight. We fight to live. We all fight for different things, of course—some fight for the glory. Some fight for people back home. Some fight for the money.

Me? Well, I just want answers.

And the only way to get answers is to win the Games. I don't want to die not knowing. If I'm going to go out, I'm going to go out with answers, in years after I grow old, happy and content with all my questions answered.

At the current moment, I have seventeen other tributes to go through to reach that point. Hopefully, they will sort themselves out and I can play the game once there are a few less out there.

I need to be cautious. I need to think every movement through. If I do, yeah, I could still lose. I could still die. I could fight and fight and fight and still lose.

The worst part is that I don't think it would surprise anyone to see me die. It's doubtful that even my parents would be too sad—probably just disappointed, as I would no longer be around to marry Gabriel.

I'm no use to them dead, after all.

Gabriel, though, Gabriel won't let me go. I know that. We aren't exactly _romantic_, but we are friends. He would help me find answers. I am sure of that. All I have to do is be patient, be positive, and hope that I can murder children when the time comes.

Every Victor before me has done it, so why can't I?

No tribute has ever escaped the arena without any kills—well, aside from Laila Showman, but that's a different story—and it's doubtful that it will ever happen. I'm certainly not going to be the first if I do end up at that point. There will be death involved. There will be killing involved. And normally I wouldn't condone such a thing, but life is life, and I want to live.

I give my head a small shake as I continue to move forward, knowing I should have grabbed something from the Bloodbath. There was a creek a way back, but I know it can't be safe to drink plain. I don't have a way to boil it, and there's no way someone rich enough is rooting for me to give me water purification packets or iodine. No matter how much I would appreciate that, I don't feel at liberty to start screaming demands at the heavens in the hopes that someone will pity me enough to give me supplies.

Thalia told me the longer I play the game and the harder I play the game, the most sponsors I will draw. _You have to show them that you're worthy of their time_, she told me two nights ago. There's just one small problem, in which I really don't think I am worthy of their time, money, or anything, really. I'd love some water—I'm starting to get slightly light-headed, it's been over twenty-four hours since my last liquid intake—but I'm not exactly the picture of a Victor. I'm Adrian Corvinus. I'm not what people look for in a Victor. I'd say I'm more of what people look for in the average bloodbath death.

But at least I proved them wrong in that aspect. At least I can say that. Maybe they'll put it on my gravestone. _Delta Bishop, age fifteen. She still died, but hey, she got out of the bloodbath. That's got to count for something, right?_

Although it doesn't really matter in the long run. Second place is still as dead as twenty-fourth.

I finally stop moving, standing stationary in the middle of a foreign forest with no water, no food, no weapons to protect myself against the seventeen other teenagers out for my blood. I just want water right now. I want to quench my thirst for liquid so I can later quench my thirst for knowledge, for answers.

I look down at my feet, then look back up at the sky and say, "Hey, um, I don't know if anyone is paying attention to me, but I'd really like some water? Or even purifying packets if you're keen."

The silence stretches for a few moments, long enough for me to lose hope. I drop my arms to sides as I hear the distant sounds of sonar ringing through the arena.

A sponsor gift. Finally.

It lands a few feet away from me, a fairly average size metal tin with a parachute tied to it. It takes every ounce of will I have in me to not chug the water immediately. Instead I take a small sip, washing it around to my mouth before I swallow, trying to get rid of the sticky taste of dehydration. After a few moments I take another sip and notice the package of water purifying packets sitting in the tin. I snatch them up, excited, and get to my feet.

I stare at the tin and the parachute for a moment before deciding to take the parachute. Who knows when I might need a random piece of fabric?

With a tiny bit more hope in my heart, I head back in the direction of that creek.

**A/N: Deathless Day 2! I didn't have any deaths planned for this chapter ****but I did have a moment where I considered killing Flourish via iodine overdose.**

**1\. Who would you prefer to win: Yama or Rylan?**

**2\. Will Flourish concede and commit suicide?**

**3\. Will Delta ever get the answers she seeks?**

**4\. Which of these three tributes is your favorite?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: I'm…really tired. Are you tired?**

**My answer: yes, as stated previously. I haven't been sleeping well lately. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Don't Worry, Blame Clash: **_**Clash (D1M), Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**(Remaining) Babysitters' Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Jayanne (D11F), Yama (D11M), **

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Loners: Melissandre (D12F), Delta (D3F), Shawn (D10F)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**None. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Mercy: 1 (Daniel)**

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**So, here's an explanation as to Monk's backstory. I made most of it up on the spot, so if it makes no sense, blame me, **_**not Monk's submitter**_**. **

**Basically, Monk's mother died giving birth to him. His father named him Devlin and believed him to be useless, worthless, a complete and total idiot. He abused him near constantly, leaving Monk's only reprieve to be visits from a pair of sisters, Alizah and Angelina Everard. Alizah, being five years older than Monk, still was best friends with him and constantly tried to convince him to run away from his father. Monk always refused. When Monk was ten, Alizah was reaped for the Games, the same Games that Hestia won. She died in eleventh place, after making Angelina promise to take care of Monk. Lina did her best, for a few months, until Monk got beaten almost to death and she tried to run off with him. His father caught him, slammed Monk's head against a tree, caught Lina and murdered her in the forest. Monk was found by the Peacekeepers, and the rest is history. **

**-Amanda**


	30. Day 3 - Welcome to the World!

_Rylan Darlux, 16_

_District 9 Male_

Jayanne's water broke last night.

I don't know the first thing about delivering a baby.

Yama doesn't know the first thing about delivering a baby.

Jayanne, even if she does know, is having trouble forming words in general which means she is no help in telling us the first thing about delivering a baby.

We're kind of stuck and completely screwed.

Our employee break room is hot and humid, sweat running down my face as Yama and I rush around, doing anything we can think of to help Jayanne get through this. But unfortunately, we all know the outcome of this—Jayanne dies. Maybe the baby does too. Maybe something worse happens and all of us end up dead.

Who knows? Certainly not me. Certainly not Yama. Certainly not Jayanne.

I give me head a slight shake, wiping sweat off my forehead with the sleeve of my discarded jacket. If we didn't think it could attract the Careers, we would open the windows, maybe the door. Anything to give us a bit of air circulation.

It started pouring rain around fifteen minutes ago, which gives me an idea. Aren't water births a thing? We may not have a large tub she can sit in, but we imitate it. I get to my feet, walking over to the far wall. A few rusty buckets are stacked up, leaning hard against the wall and teetering dangerously every time a gust of wind rocks the building.

I pick up to of the buckets and set them aside. I turn to see Yama silently coaxing Jayanne to push—the head of her baby is crowning. And—Christ, there's so much blood. Do people normally bleed this much during birth?

Stealing a glance at the largest bucket, probably large enough for Jayanne to sit in, I tap Yama's shoulder and explain where I'm going before I dash out the door, jogging down the stairs.

My feet pound hard on the ground as I rush down the hallway and out into the main lobby, bypassing the sign telling me the strange geyser will erupt in fifteen minutes. The back door bangs open behind me as I raise the buckets high in the air, moving around to catch as many droplets of water as I can. I can hear each little _ping_ as a rain drop hits the rusty metal, which only makes the anxious fidgeting worse.

I peer into one of the buckets and see it less than half full. _Come on! _I think, nervously stealing a look into the lobby, watching the four Careers move around at the Cornucopia in the distance. They appear none the wiser to the panic that is welling in my chest, all of them sitting around on crates under the overhang of the Cornucopia, talking about something.

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. _

Nervously I start to tap my foot against the concrete, ignoring my arms telling me how exhausted they are. I look into one of the buckets again and see it's mostly full. I set the other one on the back step and yank open the door.

As soon as I enter the lobby, I can hear Jayanne's cries of pain echoing down to me. I cringe, looking around for anything that will help. A sponsor gift, maybe? That would be helpful.

Finally I settle on grabbing as many pamphlets as I can and rushing back up the stairs.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There's so much fucking _blood_. The ground around Jayanne is slightly slick with it, the red liquid slowly seeping into the floorboards. I inhale sharply, dumping the water into the largest bucket. Yama and I drag Jayanne into the water. It quickly turns red.

I turn around and run back down the stairs, snatching up two more buckets. I burst out the back door, set down both of the buckets and take the already full one.

Around and around I go, running back and forth with empty buckets to replace the full ones, dumping them into Jayanne's tub, rinse and repeat. My breathing starts to turn ragged the longer I go, but I refuse to stop. I can handle a little bit of running. Panem knows I'm going to be doing a lot of it in the following days.

The tub finally starts to get full. The water is red. The good news is that Jayanne's baby is almost fully out. The bad news is that there. Is. So. Much. Fucking. Blood.

I dash out to retrieve the two final buckets, pausing to use some of the pamphlets to sop up some of the blood.

The rain is falling so heavily that both of the buckets are overflowing. I turn some of it out on the steps and head back inside. The rain has started to seep through my jacket and onto the sleeves and torso of my shirt.

That's when I hear the cannon shot.

I drop the buckets in alarm, my hands numb. They clatter to the ground with a loud _thunk_, spilling water all over the floor. _It's not Jayanne, it's not Jayanne, it's not Jayanne, it's not—_

The note drifts down from the ceiling, landing on my left shoulder. The paper feels smooth and fresh.

_Rylan—_

_Leave the baby with Jayanne. The hovercraft crew will pick both of them up. The baby will be returned to District 11 to live with Jayanne's husband. _

_Interim President G. Purdue_

I sink to my knees, ignoring the water that seeps into my pant legs. It will wash out Jayanne's blood anyway.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_District 4 Male_

At the sound of the cannon shot—the first one since the Bloodbath, I might add—Clash gets right down to speculating who it was for.

"Could be for anyone, really," I say with a shrug. "Aside from the four of us, obviously."

"No shit, Sherlock," Clash says irritably. He's just been like that the past few days—impatient, annoyed easily. Just another reason he makes no sense to me. Or anyone, I would imagine.

"Jeez, no need to freak out," Adrian murmurs, looking out across the rainy plains.

The sound of each water droplet hitting the roof of the Cornucopia rings through my ears, which is starting to _really_ get on my nerves. It's also giving me a bit of a headache. I've heard of a torture technique where someone has water dripping onto their forehead forever, or at least until they go insane. That's kind of how this rainstorm is making me feel.

I can tell the dreary weather is taking a toll on my allies as well. Everyone is more irritable than in the past days—minus Clash, who seems perpetually pissed these days—like we're all on our last nerves. That's going to be a problem, since these Games seem like they are going to be slow.

"Didn't that pregnant girl say she was due on Day 3 in her interview?" Achilles proposes innocently.

Adrian looks at him suspiciously and answers, "Yes, I believe she did. Perhaps that cannon belongs to her."

"Still could be anyone else in the arena. Maybe it was one of the girls," I insist, leaning back against the inner wall of the Cornucopia. The endless _ding, ding, ding_ of rain hitting metal is starting to get seriously annoying. Unfortunately, the rain doesn't seem to be in the mood to stop any time soon.

I sigh and pull one of my legs to my chest.

Silence stretches between the four of us, the only sound in the arena being the pounding of the rain. The ground-water-hole-thing went off around thirty minutes ago. That thing also gets on all of our nerves. All through the night, that thing is blasting every…hour and a half, I'd say? And waking us up with it, of course. That is probably one of the reasons we're all so annoyed—we're just sleep deprived.

Achilles gets to his feet, wandering out into the rain. He stands there for a few moment, seemingly surveying the terrain curiously.

"Hey!" Achilles suddenly exclaims, making me jump, startled. "Look! Tributes!"

That gets the rest of us moving. Sure enough, I can see the boys from 9 and 11 dashing between the buildings, seeming oblivious to our presence.

It takes Clash a moment to have a weapon in his hand, chasing after the pair. I grab the nearest sharp object—a discarded spear—and follow him hurriedly, not bothering to see if either Adrian or Achilles are as well. Judging by the sounds of boots slapping the wet sand, I assume they are.

The boy from 9 takes the boy from 11's wrist, clenching hard around it as he runs, quickly ducking into the trees behind the building with the wrap around porch. Clash picks up the pace, beckoning for me to follow. "Come on," he says between huffs. "Let's wrap around the other side and catch them as they come out."

"I don't think that's—" I don't get to finish my sentence, as Clash grabs my wrist and yanks me away, forcing me to run along with him.

The rain soaks through my jacket and pants as we continue to make chase, hurrying around the side of the trees. We come to a wooden bridge spanning the river, leading to a path into the trees. They couldn't have already crossed the bridge. It took _us_ a while to get here, and we didn't even have to fight through underbrush and branches in our faces.

After a moment, something comes shooting out of the woods. Clash rushes forward and tackles it.

"Caw!" the eagle screeches indignantly, holding its now-injured wing close to its feathered chest. Clash gets to his feet, his face slightly flushed as the bird lopsidedly flies off.

"Well, that was a failure," I remark, turning around to head back to the Cornucopia. After a moment I realize Clash isn't following me. "Clash? Aren't you coming?"

"No," Clash says sharply. "I'm waiting. They have to come out eventually."

"Or they could be…you know, going west?" I propose in a tone that suggests it should be obvious. Isn't it obvious? When they realized we didn't follow them through the woods, they have to figure we were going to try and head them off when they came out, right? Can Clash not see that? "Maybe it would have worked better to just follow them through the forest."

Clash whirls around. "Well, I didn't see _you_ coming up with anything better."

I start rigidly for a moment, staring at the ground as I try to figure out how to reply. "That's because you didn't give me room to."

"It's not like you've ever had any good ideas anyway," Clash says dejectedly, walking a few steps away.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand indignantly, turning to face Clash, my hand clenching around my spear.

"Exactly what I said. You've never had any good ideas."

_Hey, he's not wrong,_ hisses a little voice in my head.

"Yeah, well, it's not like you're some saint," I say, letting the frustration seep into my voice. Can't Clash just take a hint?

The next thing I know, Clash has his hand around my throat, slamming my body against the ground. My spear rolls a few feet away, completely out of reach.

A choked noise spills out of my mouth as I desperately claw at Clash's hands, pointlessly kicking my legs. "Say that again," Clash says, his face almost nose-to-nose to mine. "I _fucking_ dare you."

I just splutter painfully in response. Fuck! I can't breathe! I can't breathe! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Black starts to drift through my vision. Everything starts to get sort of blurry.

"Clash! No!" I have no idea who yells this. I can hear their feet hitting the muddy ground as they rush toward us, but will they be too late? I'm going to die here, aren't I? Funny, I always thought I'd go out in something water-related…

Clash's body is thrown off of mine as the black finally takes over my vision. I can feel the air around me, but I can't get it into my lungs…too little, too late…

_Connor Merlyn, 18_

_District 5 Male_

This pool really is something. A sign adorned on the wooden railing in front of me names it _Morning Glory Pool_. The colors are brilliant…the oranges, yellows, blues and greens that all meld together to create something beautiful. The only bad part is that this pool appears to have no bottom. Just an endless crater that goes down to the center of Panem itself…it makes me wonder what is down there. Not that I'll ever find out—I'm not going to throw myself into the bottomless pool—but it does pique my curiosity. All these holes in the ground, seemingly with no bottom to be found…well, it's scary, but it's also intriguing. Something has to be down there, right? It can't just go down forever, right?

I steal a glance at Carter, laying down on a bench on the other side of the boardwalk, fast asleep. The rain cleared off about an hour ago, leaving everything slightly damp, including me. And Carter's bench.

The sun is starting set. It bathes him in orange and yellow light. Sabrina always likes sunsets—they're not always very visible in 5 because of the air pollution, but whenever she seems one that is really stunning, she drags me out to see it with her. I wonder if she is watching right now, enjoying this fantastic sunset, even if it's completely fabricated by the arena.

Carter lets out a small snore, making me jump. There have been no cannons since the one early this morning. The silence is starting to make me wary. We've stayed in one place for far too long. Eventually some alliance, or even just a loner, will stumble upon us. We aren't exactly outfitted for combat, with our measly little hunting knife. And I don't know about Carter, but I don't think I'll be a very good fist fighter.

I turn my attention back to Morning Glory Pool, once more taking in the colors. This is another thing Sabrina would love to see—she has always loved colors.

I give my head a slight shake, shutting my eyes for a moment. What did Sabrina think when I proposed? Did she say yes? Will I ever know? Or will I die without an answer to the biggest, most meaningful question I've ever asked in my whole life?

Another question that I keep coming back to is what my father thinks of it. It's not like I care for his approval. That's not the problem. It's just…I know he has never approved of Sabrina. What was his reaction to finding out I want to marry her? And right before I went into the Games, no less?

No doubt he's pissed. That's certainly to be expected. How could I expect anything less from Corvus Merlyn? He's batshit crazy, and hates Sabrina with the passion of a thousand suns.

I let out a quiet sigh, resting my hands on the rough wooden railing. The setting sun is reflected on the pool before me, momentarily blinding me. I shake my head, trying to clear my vision.

Everything feels far too peaceful for the arena. Birds are singing in the trees. A gentle breeze whistles happily through the trees. Carter sleeps soundly on the bench behind me. The sun lazily sinks below the horizon in front of me. Everything is perfect, serene…it feels like the calm before the storm. It feels like something horrible is about to happy.

I look to the pink sky, imagining a camera hanging on the roof of the arena. Sabrina, standing in the square in District 5, or perhaps huddled around the T.V. in Felix's house. Watching, waiting, cringing, through every fight, every graze, every conversation.

A desperate hope that I will return to her. Or maybe she hates me, for proposing like that. If I don't win, I'll never know.

_That's_ why I have to win. I have to know. I have to spend the rest of my life with Sabrina. And…maybe, yeah, I want to prove to my father that I am not worthless. If I can win the Hunger Games, I must be worth something, right?

_Clash Winston, 18_

_District 1 Male_

I never heard any cannon shots. That means Arthur is alive. Or just dying a slow, painful death. I don't know which one I'd prefer right now. Arthur thoroughly pissed me off—even in the world I'm living in right now, I have to allow myself at least a little bit of pride. And Arthur just—he—ugh! I can't even think straight.

I dejectedly kick my foot at the mud, shoving my hands in my pockets. The moon is slightly blotted out by the thick trees, still shining down in silver slivers. I pass under one such of these shafts, casting a tall shadow on a tree behind me.

Maybe if I had a bit less pride, I would go back to the Cornucopia. Maybe I'll go back tomorrow, once all of us have had some time to cool off.

And…maybe, it's a little weird to think that the first kill I make in the Games would be from Arthur making me mad.

I'll never admit how much Arthur injured my pride. I've never thought of myself as saint—nothing close to it. But…Arthur just…agh! A flash of red crosses through my vision. Can't he just keep his fucking mouth shut?

I shake my head, angrily muttering under my breath as I continue to stalk through the dark, damp forest. Even though it stopped raining hours ago, before the sun even began to set, the residual water remains. I slog through the mud on the forest floor, looking up at the canopy of branches that decorate all the trees. We don't have forests in 1. Not like this one, anyway. Everything in one is perfectly manicured, to the t, beautiful to a fault. There's a golden forest I would always go on runs through on Mondays back at Court—and when I say golden, I mean _golden_. Everything about it is shiny, golden shimmery paint thrown on everything. The ground, the trees, the leaves, everything. There's a crew that comes in every month and repaints the parts that starting to look like normal nature—what an utter travesty.

Pausing to look at the leaves harder, I hear the sound of a bird cawing in the distance. It makes me think of that eagle from earlier. As if Arthur didn't already have enough artillery against me, now he can tell his allies about me tackling and injuring a bird. Yeah, that's _totally_ going to fix my reputation with this.

I sigh. Everything has just gone to shit, hasn't it? And it's my fault. All of it. I should have just disregarded what Money said. Then none of this would have ever happened. The Careers would have never split. I wouldn't be wandering alone through a dank forest, waiting to cool off enough to injure my pride some more so I can eat a full meal again. I don't even have any weapons, or anything. I discarded everything when I ran off into the forest after attacking Arthur.

Surely if I had stayed, Adrian and Achilles would have killed me. It was just self-preservation! I couldn't have stayed there—then I'd surely be dead.

That's when the bird's claws hit my face.

I collapse to the ground, screaming in pain as the bird rakes its talons all over my face. After a moment it flies away, toting my left eyeball with it. I clutch the empty eye socket, unable to feel anything but pain, oh fuck, it hurts, it hurts, it's agony, pure fucking agony—

The bird comes around for another strike.

This time it gets my stomach, ripping open the skin and leaving me fighting to keep my organs in my body. I roll over onto my front, trying to drag myself away from the vicious bird. Is it a mutt, sent to kill me for being boring? Or just a horror I had the misfortune to come upon?

And that's when I notice boy from 11, standing there and staring at my agonized face. "H-h-hey, kid," I stammer, my voice almost inaudible. "H-h-help…"

Yama sticks out his arm, and the bird lands on it, my eye still dangling from its blood-soaked beak. I notice the twisted feathers on the eagle's wing—it's the bird I tackled earlier.

It's a scene straight out of a horror movie. Me, laying in burning agony on the ground, reaching helplessly for someone who doesn't want to help me. And Yama standing there, his face like stone as the bird rests on his arms, an unseeing eyeball hanging from its sharpened beak.

"P-please…he—help m-m-me…" I steal a glance back at my stomach. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Blood. Blood, everywhere. Slowly dripping into the damp grass from the enormous hole in my stomach. Some miscellaneous organ is draped out across the mud. I gag and look away.

Yama starts to walk away, the bird still on his arm. "W-w-wait!" I cry weakly. "P-p-please…d-don' l-le-leave me h—he—here…I don' w-w-want t-to d-d-die…" My voice cracks pathetically as I say 'die'.

I don't want to die, alone in a forest, missing an eye with my organs spilling from my body. I don't want to go out without a fight. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

I don't want to—darkness.

**A/N: I know, like, next to nothing about labor. I'm sure that's not the right way to do water births, but do Rylan or Yama know that? Nope (yeah, that's a good excuse for not doing any research). **

**Also, I know this chapter is way late. Basically, I got a cold yesterday and have not wanted to write. And I was also driving all over Yellowstone Park (the arena haha) with my parents yesterday which was another problem. But yeah, I was in the arena yesterday. (I was going to walk around a bunch to get a better layout of the area around Old Faithful, but it started to pour rain and I went 'screw it. I've got a cold. I'm not walking around in that.')**

**1\. What will become of Jayanne's baby?**

**2\. Is Arthur as good as dead, or will he pull through?**

**3\. Will Connor ever know what Sabrina's answer to his proposal was?**

**4\. Are you sad that Clash is dead?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: did you think Arthur died at the end of his POV?**

**My answer: hahahahaha.**

**ALLIANCES:**

_**If You're Dying and You Know It, Clap Your Hands:**_** Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Career Queens: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Marina (D4F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**(Remaining) Babysitter's Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Yama (D11M), **

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Loners: Melissandre (D12F), Delta (D3F), Shawn (D10F)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**18****th**** Place - Jayanne Hart (D11F). Died in childbirth. Submitted by 1MidnightWolf1.**

**Oh, sweet Jayanne. No one expected you to get very far, and for good reason. You were marked for slaughter from the beginning, but you still got an arc. Even though your development certainly wasn't for the better, you can rest easy knowing your child is going to be safe. Jiro will certainly take good care of her as well. And as long as Rylan and Yama are alive, you will be remembered as well. You were just such a wholesome person, but I unfortunately just couldn't justify you making it further than the birth of your child. RIP. **

**17****th**** Place – Clash Winston (D1M). Left eye and innards ripped out by Yama Oyeyemi's (D11M) eagle and left to die. Submitted by Guesttwelve. **

**Here's to Money Quinneton continuing to make his tribute go insane! Haha. But in all seriousness, Clash really was something. He certainly went through a lot of development to come to his bitter end here. He made his fatal mistake in trusting Money's advice and putting it to use, and now he has to reap the consequences. I know a lot of people expected Clash to go further, but the main reason he dies here is to further other tributes' arcs, as well as that I didn't know where to go next with his own arc. He had reached the height of it and there was nowhere to go but down, and I didn't know how to do that properly. RIP. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Mercy: 1 (Daniel)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash) (It's indirect but I'm still counting it)**

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**-Amanda**


	31. Interlude - Place Your Bets

_Cassius 'Cass' Grammer, 19_

_Capitol College Student / Nighttime Bartender_

The sound of glasses clinking and drinks being poured drifts lazily around my ears. In the background a T.V. blares with the news, the hazy sounds of slurred words of the bar's patrons, loud, raucous laughter…same old, same old. The same trashy bar. The same random dudes stumbling around, drunk off their asses. The same junky jukebox in the counter, occasionally spluttering pieces of a tune even though no one has put a single Cap in it years.

Only do things get interesting when Lanai drops onto the stool in front of me and asks for whatever I have that will make her stop thinking. "Lan, you're like…five years old," I say, shaking my head as I clean out some old guy's glass. "Besides, you're also like, two inches tall. That kind of alcohol could kill you."

"Sounds good to me," Lanai says, resting her head in her hands. "Is Sabre here? I need to talk to him."

"Nah, he said he can't study in this place."

"Rightfully so," Lanai huffs, her eyelids drooping. "Ugh…everything's just gone to shit, Cass."

"Gamemaking not going well?" I ask.

"Well…that's not really it. It's just…nothing is going right. I can't do anything right anymore." Lanai shakes her head. "Can I have that drink now?"

"Can you pay for it?" I counter, my back turned to her as I grab a glass for her. "I know that internship is an unpaid one."

"Yeah. 'Course I can pay. I'm not broke like you are," Lanai growls.

I bark out a laugh as I pour out her drink. "If I hear you get alcohol poisoning and want to sue me or something, just know I barely have enough Caps to buy a loaf of bread every day." I shake my head, laughing again. "And people say there's no poverty in the Capitol."

"You're a broke college student. There's a difference," Lanai says as I set her drink on the counter. She picks it up and takes a long sip.

"So, who are you betting on?" I ask, leaning against the counter and looking up at the T.V. Two Capitol newscasters are announcing the name of Jayanne Hart's baby. Melody Jayanne Kayje. It's a bit much.

"You know Gamemakers can't place bets," answers Lanai.

"You can still be rooting for someone though," I say with a shrug. "Personally, I'm rooting for Arthur."

"Because you think he's hot? Or you want to fuck him?" Lanai's face is slightly disgusted, her pale features twisted by revulsion.

"Well…no, I have Sabre for that…and it's not like I'd ever make enough money to grab a Victor, anyway." I place my hands on the rough wooden counter, leaning over Lanai's already half-empty glass. But, yeah…Lanai is right. Arthur _is _hot and I _do_ want to fuck him. But I also think Carter would be a pretty damn good time.

"You're disgusting."

"Like you didn't want to fuck Kasumi Karakara." I grin at her laughing.

"Yeah, when we were in high school. I wanted that before you and Sabre even did it," Lanai snarks, punctuating her sentence with another swig of her drink.

"That was three years ago, Lan."

"Yeah, so? I was sixteen. Get over it." She knocks back the last of her drink and looks at me for a refill.

"It's gonna cost you again." I shake my head, looking at the few drops of alcohol left in her glass. It's not even that I don't want her to waste her money; after all, Lanai is known for her famously insane tips. It's just that I don't want her to drink herself to death; Sabre has tried it enough times—that's one of the reasons I even became a bartender in the first place. That, and I need money, and this was the only place that would hire a broke college student.

Lanai just stretches her arm out further.

"You could get arrested."

"You're being paid to give me alcohol. Chop chop."

"You make a compelling argument." I take her glass and refill it.

She slowly takes a sip. "You wanted to know who I'm rooting for. Well, I'm rooting for Marina."

"Because _you_ think she's hot, and you want to fuck _her_?" I ask, raising my eyebrows, laughing at Lanai's appalled expression.

"No! I'm not sixteen anymore, Cass." Lanai shakes her head, taking another long sip of her drink, probably in attempt to get me to leave her alone. Oh, well. It's her loss. She's the one who came in, after all.

"_BREAKING NEWS!" _The T.V. over my head screams, making me jump and turn around. The two newscasters from before remain, now wearing much more stoic faces that really don't match their colorful outfits, skin and hair.

The one on the left, wearing all yellow, begins seriously, "Breaking news! Prominent Capitol doctor, Nayra Xavius, has been arrested and executed on account of treason against the Capitol. Doctor Xavius, personal doctor to the late President Etta Snow, reportedly was a leader of a rebel group based in our beloved Capitol."

The camera pans over to a middle-aged man with black hair. The bar at the bottom of the screen introduces him as Doctor Xiomorus McCaffrey. "The complication which the president was killed by was easily preventable—Xavius simply didn't, and allowed Snow to die on her watch."

I raise my eyebrows. "Huh." The newscasters and Doctor McCaffrey continuing discussing the development as Lanai jumps to her feet, spilling her drink all over the counter, and the front of my shirt. "Hey!"

"I have to go," Lanai tells me, standing up her glass. "I'm sorry. Something—something's come up. Gamemaking stuff. Bye."

With that, Lanai disappears out the door. "Hey! You never paid!" I yell at her. _And_ she never gave me a tip.

**A/N: Subplot! Yay!**

**1\. Do you like Cass?**

**2\. Do you like Lanai?**

**3\. Did you like their conversation, or was it just weird?**

**4\. What is Lanai worried about?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: of the three (living) tributes mentioned in this chapter (Carter, Arthur, Marina) which would you prefer to win?**

**My answer: can't answer, rip. **

**-Amanda**


	32. Day 4 - Living Is Harder

**TW for suicidal thoughts and actions.**

_Fragrance Emst, 16_

_District 1 Female_

I wake up early in the morning to see Flourish with our bottle of iodine uncapped and halfway to her lips, her hands shaking as she lifts it.

I don't think; I just act.

Panic swelling in my chest, I tackle Flourish, sending the iodine spilling over the ground. I don't care about that, though. I'm more focused on keeping Flourish from killing herself.

"What the hell was that?" I whisper-shout.

Flourish doesn't answer. She just leans over Guadalupe and Marina to check that they're both still asleep. They are. "Fragrance…have you ever wanted to…to kill yourself?"

I ruminate over this for a moment before finally deciding on my answer. "Yes. I have."

Flourish looks up, surprised. "Really? Why?"

I shut my eyes and sigh. "It was about three years ago. I never actually attempted it or anything, just considered it as a possibility. It was a tough time in my life—my si…cousin, Beauty, refused to talk to me. My, erm, aunt and uncle wouldn't let me quit training, even just for a little while so I could sort my shit out…I was tired of it. I wanted to take control of my life. And that seemed like the perfect way to do it."

"But why didn't you?" Flourish asks after a few second, her voice quiet and almost…respectful. "It…sounds like you had every reason to."

"The thing that stopped me was that I had—and still do—such a love for living. I've always had an insatiable need to take control, to be _in_ control—you can tell from me recklessly volunteering—but I knew that killing myself was not the answer. There were still so many things I hadn't done," I answer thoughtfully. It feels weird to talk about things like this. I've never told anyone this, let alone practically a stranger while my words are undoubtedly being broadcasted across the entirety of Panem.

"Dying is easy," Flourish says, her voice slightly vacant. "Living is harder."

"But there are so many good things about living," I say. "I'd say the pros outweigh the cons, wouldn't you?"

"No." Flourish looks down, idly brushing her hand over her pant leg. "I've never wanted to die as much as I do right now, Fragrance. Maybe it would feel good…you know, to just…stop existing?"

"No, Flourish," I say as bracingly as I can. "Dying isn't the answer. Don't you have people to return to back home? Don't you have a life you want to live?"

Flourish sits unmoving for almost a whole minute before she slowly shakes her head. "I don't. I don't have a life I want to live."

"And why is that?"

"Even if I win, I'll always be the transgender one. I won't be the Victor from 9. And…that's hardly a way to live," Flourish answers softly, her eyes shut. "I'll never be accepted. So I think the best way out is to just get it over with, don't you?" She shakily lifts her hand to the knife hanging from the backpack sitting a few feet away from her.

"No, I don't," I say, grabbing Flourish's wrist and holding it down. "Flourish…isn't there something in your life that makes it worth living? You seemed so determined to go home a few days ago. What has changed?"

Beat.

"I just…"

Beat.

"changed my mind."

Beat.

"Why?" I ask gingerly. "What made you change your mind?"

"You sound like a therapist…" Flourish mumbles. "'And how does that make you feel?'"

"Flourish. Just answer the question."

Flourish sighs, drawing circles with her finger in the dirt. "I don't want the life of a Victor. And if I tell you what that means, I think you'll change your mind too."

"Maybe I want to know," I say. "Did you ever think of that? If the life of Victor is going to be so shitty, why should I live it?"

The silence that follows makes me uncomfortable. I stare stonily at Flourish's face until she lays down and says, "Good night, Fragrance."

I pocket the knife from Marina's backpack. "…good night, Flourish."

There's something seriously wrong going on in Flourish's head. And if there's good reason why being a Victor is so undesirable…I think I deserve to know. I think I deserve to know if the life of a Victor is going to be unbearable. I want to know if it would truly be a fate worse than death.

_Melissandre Grey, 17_

_District 12 Female_

I've been in this arena for four days, and I'm already ready to go home.

Not that this tree I've been camping in is uncomfortable or anything—no, why on Panem would you say that?—it's practically a five-star hotel! The wood is soft and definitely doesn't dig into my back when I'm trying to sleep, and I definitely didn't get pooped on by a bird in the middle of the night. Totally not.

I can see the sun peeking over the horizon now, bathing the plain of crumbling, hollow ground in dawn light. On the day of the Bloodbath, I almost lost a foot to said crumbling ground—I was running through the river and came out onto that hill leading up the boardwalk, and the ground started to collapse around me. I'd say I'm pretty damn lucky to still have all of my limbs with me.

And now I'm just tired. I know I need to move on soon, or else I'll be boring. I don't want to have some sort of mutt sent after me, either to kill me for being too boring or make me more interesting.

Either way sounds like a pretty crappy way to start a day.

So I finally make myself get up and climb out of the tree, stripping off my jacket as the sun begins to climb higher in the sky. The temperature follows it, speeding higher and higher until it's practically boiling me alive as I walk.

I roll up the sleeves of my shirt, wiping sweat off my brow. I emptied my only bottle of water long ago. My mouth feels dry and sticky. I do have a few purifying packets, so long as I can find a source of water.

Deciding that should be my goal for the day, I set out across the still-slightly damp grass. There was that river down by all of the crumbling ground, but do I have the courage to run back down there, risking life, limb and being sighted by the Careers? If I'm desperate, maybe. But I'm not quite desperate yet. Surely there are other sources of water in the arena.

My mind wanders back to last year's arena, where there was no source of water aside from Sponsors and the Cornucopia. That's obviously not the case here; if it was, why would there be a river? Why would there be purifying packets and iodine in the backpacks at the Cornucopia?

But, it is entirely possible that that river is the only place to get water. I'm not going to run out there again. I could loop around through the trees and behind all of the crumbling geysers.

As I walk, my heart starts to ache for home again. I miss Jaxson. I miss Lyanna. I miss the woods. I'm familiar with the woods back home. These woods are strange and foreign to me, and after the incident with the collapsing ground, I'm in no hurry to wander off the beaten path.

Luckily, there is an actual beaten path through the forest. The only thing that does worry me is the set of human footprints marked in the dried-up mud, branded with a large _10_. The boy from 10 is dead, which means I'm following his female counterpart. I wrack my brain to remember anything about her. She cried in her interview. That's all I can remember. It tells me nothing about whether or not she is dangerous—I don't know if I should find a different way around, and that is what is really bothering me.

It's just the feeling of the unknown. Every inch of the woods, every corner in all of 12 is familiar to me. In my seventeen years of life, I've been in every nook and cranny, every alleyway, every tree, every building. All of it is familiar. All of it is practically mine in my understanding, my view, the safety the familiar gives to me.

Because, yeah, I am unabashedly afraid of the unknown. I was deathly afraid of the dark when I younger. I was just terrified of what could lay in the shadows, just out of my peripheral vision. I've since gotten over that—in the winter it gets dark so early that I would often still be in the forest when night fell—but is a fear of the unknown that had driven my fear of the dark.

I fear the girl from 10 because I don't know what she capable. I don't know if she would kill me on sight, want to ally with me, steal from me, torture me, or be just as afraid of me as I am of her.

I don't know, and that terrifies me.

Around every corner I turn, behind every tree I pass, could be something wanting to kill me. One could argue it was the same in the woods back in 12—but it wasn't, and I know it. I know those woods like I know my own mind. I know where all the potentially dangerous animals hang out.

These woods are different. There could be danger at every corner, every turn, and I'd never know it until it was too late. I could stumble upon a tribute, armed to the teeth, at any moment.

That terrifies me. It should terrify most people. Because if I'm going down, I'm going down with a fight. To think that I could turn a corner and be stabbed in the head before I could even blink is just horrifying. That I could die without getting a chance to react, to save myself.

Thank Panem that the mud muffles my footsteps.

_Marina Galindez, 17_

_District 4 Female_

"I'm going hunting," I declare, getting to my feet. "Not for food. For tributes."

"You want someone to come with you?" Fragrance asks. "'Cause I'll volunteer Guadalupe as tribute." She reaches over and grabs Guadalupe's shoulders jokingly.

"Hey!" Guadalupe exclaims, batting Fragrance's hands away. "I don't want to go with her!"

"Well, neither do I," Fragrance replies with a shrug. "Flourish? You wanna go hunt for tributes with Marina?"

"No," Flourish mumbles.

"Okay, then. Guadalupe, go with Marina." Fragrance grabs my shoulder and jams it in into Guadalupe's. It's probably meant to make me laugh, but I can't imagine laughing about anything in the Games. Certainly not something as trivial as Fragrance's attempts at physical humor.

"I don't want to go!" Guadalupe insists, pulling away from my shoulder.

"I was planning to go alone," I say in a slightly emotionless voice. "I'll be back after there's at least one cannon." I get to my feet, grabbing my spear and leaving the clearing. The idle conversation of my allies drift past my ears as I walk, but I don't stop to listen. It doesn't matter. All they do is talk, talk, talk. It's not like they'll ever talk about something important, at least when I'm not present. I'm the only one who ever actually takes things seriously around here, anyway.

The ground speeds by as I walk through the trees, heading quickly off the beaten path and into the underbrush. Leaves run along my legs, low-hanging branches getting tangled in my hair, but I don't stop moving.

Maybe I already killed someone in the Bloodbath. But Bloodbath kills are easy. It says nothing about one's skill level. And I have to prove that I can land a kill outside of the initial eleven or so minutes. I don't know how the other two tributes who died after that lost their lives—I'm assuming the pregnant one died in labor, but Clash is lost on me.

It's not like I'm not happy that he's gone—Panem will be much better off without a jerk like him in it. Clash ruined everything. He ripped the Career Pack apart with his bare hands and he paid for it. He lost everything and he deserved everything he got.

I shake my head slightly as I walk, looking up at the sun. It's beginning to sink lower in the sky, turning the clouds a slightly pink color. Sunsets look prettier in 4 when I could look out over the ocean at them.

The forest gives way to a parking lot and a boardwalk. I clench my hand harder around my spear and cautiously step on the boardwalk. It holds my weight, so I start to walk, passing by a sand dubbing this place as _Black Sand Geyser Basin_.

Another bubbling geyser sits on the ground beside the boardwalk. I stop and look at it for a few moments, wondering what exactly causes it. Besides the Gamemakers and the arena being built by them, obviously. Surely this kind of water work doesn't actually exist. I'm sure it was just thought up by the Gamemakers to confuse us.

I rest my free hand on the rough wooden railing, looking around. That's when I hear the boardwalk behind me creak.

I whirl around with my spear in both hands, pointing at the attacker.

At the same moment, the large angry bird bowls me over, sending me tumbling over the railing headfirst into the bubbling geyser. The ground itself seems to collapse around my body as my weight falls upon it, sending the pair of attacking figures and the bird running away in panic.

For a moment, white hot pain fills my body as a horrible scream rips its way out of my voice. I feel like I'm falling, further and further and further, deeper and deeper into the ground as the pain reaches a peak and the heat burns its way through my skin.

"_Marina, I've told you time and time again to never let your guard down," Aran says reproachfully, shaking his head. The buzzing of the Academy seems to dull as he addresses me, allowing me to shut out the trainees' voices as I listen to Aran's advice. He's known as the best trainer for good reason. "You have to keep your head on straight, remember? Make good decisions, remain constantly vigilant and aware of your surroundings. You never know when an attacker might jump out, right?"_

_I let out a sigh, dropping my spear to my side. "Yes. I know."_

"_If you know, then do it!" He says it jokingly, but I can't help but think about how he's right. "One day you might be in the Games, and letting your guard down for a single moment could get you killed. And I'm sure you don't want that, yes?"_

"_Yes." I lift my spear and return to my sparring partner, knowing that if I ever go into the Games, I'll remember what Aran said. I won't let my guard down, and I'll live to the tell the tale. "No one wants to die."_

A final strike of pain courses through my body, and then I know nothing at all.

_Mercy Mitsui, 16_

_District 6 Female_

There is this huge tower back in 6 that my father owns—technically leases, but no one would ever dare to evict him—and it's one of my favorite places to go. The smog in 6 does diminish some of the view, but it's still mostly visible. From up in the penthouse, I can see all of 6 stretching before me. I could watch those littles ants wandering around the streets below, thinking they matter, thinking that they have some semblance of control over their own existence. I could see each little scuffle in the alleyways, each sketchy drug trade, each robbery, each mugging, each conversation, every part of existence in 6 that most people hate yet I continue to revel in. The constant bloodshed which I adored to watch back home, oftentimes with Tabitha by my side. I always knew she hated it while I always enjoyed it to no end, and that was just a happy bi-product.

Sitting up here at Warren and I's camp feels the same way. I sit concealed in a bush as the sun continues to sink lower over the horizon, keeping my eyes trained on the Cornucopia. One of the three remaining boys has been laying on the ground all day, and earlier one of the other two left. I'm fairly certain it was the boy from 2 who went out, but I can't say my eyesight is perfect.

From up here, those three boys are just a small crowd of ants, doing their meaningless tasks with meaningless hope in their chests, thinking they could actually win the Games and defeat someone like me.

None of them have ever killed anybody. I doubt anyone else in this entire arena had killed anyone before all of this started. And yet me, over here, already having racked up a fairly large body count in my sixteen years of life. Late payers, late buyers, just late people in general. Those who defected, tried to escape with their families before we caught them. The list could go on and on, a trail of bodies and bullets following behind me as I continually add to the blood of those I have killed.

The striking of a match behind me makes me turn around. Warren sits on a flat-topped rock, lighting a pile of logs. He doesn't notice me looking at him, seemingly deep in thought.

That almost makes me laugh. I doubt Warren is capable of being 'deep in thought'. He's just generally an idiot. For perhaps the seventh hundredth time in the past week, I wonder what my father was thinking when he chose Warren as my protector.

I can think of around ten better options. That one boy named Dodge, perhaps. I know he comes from the underground fighting rings, and forcing those kinds of kids to volunteer is exactly what drug lords from 6 do. Another better choice is that actor, Ander. I've never met someone who can lie better than him, which automatically gives him a one up on Warren. Hell, even that thirteen-year-old boy addicted to Morphling that owes my father over three-hundred-thousand Caps would be better than Warren. At least that kid has some muscle and brains on him.

The sun steadily disappears below the distant horizon, and I lean back against my tree, letting my head loll back against the wood. The boy from 3 is moving around down by the Cornucopia, holding a flashlight in the dim evening light. The boy from 4 remains unmoving on the ground.

Again I almost laugh. Taking a bird's eye view to the arena is hilarious. Especially yesterday when those two idiots from 1 and 4 ran after the alliance from 11 and 9. Watching the boy from 1 tackle that bird while the two from 11 and 9 run back across the way they came.

And then of course it got even better when the boy from 1 started choking the boy from 4 on the ground. I'm pretty sure I actually did laugh when that one happened. Watching the boy from 4 splutter and flop around like a fish out of water until their other two allies came along to save his pathetic ass. It felt like most gang fights in 6 when only three people showed up from three different gangs with three hundred people in each. A small scuffle, someone else comes to the rescue of whoever gets attacked, said person attacked lives in shame for the rest of their life, turns to drugs to ease their pain and then becomes indebted to my father.

Simple.

Of course, none of those tributes would turn to drugs since in a matter of days they'll be dead in the ground and I'll be heading back to 6. I'll be able to add some of them to my own raising body count. While unfortunately there are no guns to use to add to my bullets, there's plenty of tributes left to add to the bodies part. Fourteen after that cannon shot from earlier. Warren will obviously end up being one of them—as soon as he has outlived his uses I'll get rid of him, and I doubt I'll give him the mercy of making it quick. I used to imagine what would happen when Tabitha would refuse to take the tattoo, join the Red Lizards.

I'm still going to get the chance to torture Warren, just under different circumstances. And then I'll go back to 6 and life will continue as normal, and Tabitha will be too terrified to stray.

**A/N: Hi all I'm back. Still sick but at least I only missed one day of school. **

**1\. How long will Flourish hold up?**

**2\. Will Melissandre get over her fear of the unknown?**

**3\. Are you sad that Marina is dead?**

**4\. Is Mercy absolutely insane?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: who do you predict will die next?**

**My answer: well…can't really answer this one…but I do think the next death will be a surprise. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**If You're Dying and You Know It, Clap Your Hands:**_** Adrian (D2M), Achilles (D3M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Now What?: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**(Remaining) Babysitter's Club: **_**Rylan (D9M), Yama (D11M), **

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Loners: Melissandre (D12F), Delta (D3F), Shawn (D10F)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**16****th**** Place – Marina Galindez (D4F). Knocked into a geyser and burned to death. Submitted by Sparky She-Demon. **

**I know a lot of people expected Marina to go a lot further than this. The main reason she dies here is because while she was strong, and fairly interesting, there are other tributes I enjoy to write a bit more and have more ideas for. Marina was a cool character, but especially since she flung herself head-first off the deep end, she kind of declined in interest and popularity. I felt she was no longer compelling, and thus, this is where she dies. RIP. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Mercy: 1 (Daniel)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash) (I'm not counting Marina as his since the geyser did most of the work)**

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** \- Marina**

**-Amanda**


	33. Day 5 - Surprise, Surprise! Time To Die!

_Adrian Corvinus, 18_

_District 2 Male_

The sun slowly begins to rise over the horizon as I watch Achilles's back retreat into the forest, off to hunt for tributes and hopefully do something interesting. Sitting around the Cornucopia and waiting for Arthur to either die and or wake up isn't exactly prime time television.

Of course, I would have preferred to go with him—especially since Achilles is objectively more dangerous than Arthur since Flourish made off with the only bow in the arena—but I'd also rather not have someone come along and slit Arthur's throat. That would be an unfortunate scene to return to, and it would also put us down another peg from the girls.

I cross my legs at my ankles, leaning back against the cold metal Cornucopia. Arthur remains draped out across a sleeping bag nearby, dead to the world. I wouldn't be surprised if he _is_ dead and no one has noticed yet. I've never heard of anyone dying two days after being strangled into unconsciousness. Of course, he would have died a lot sooner if Achilles didn't know CPR—which, oddly enough, is not something they teach you at Stander. Why would you want to worry about your allies? It's not like they don't tell us to join the Careers and that there is strength in numbers. No, of course not.

And so it is to my immense surprise when Arthur starts to stir around fifteen minutes later, groaning hoarsely. I get to my feet and tentatively walk over to him, looking down at his colorless face from above. He's lucky that his skin is so tan or he would be as red as a lobster by now.

Unsure of what to do now, I ask, "Are you okay?"

"I feel like I was hit by a bus," Arthur answers quietly, his voice hoarse and croaky.

"But you're not dead," I say, dropping onto a crate of undetermined supplies beside Arthur.

"Unfortunately."

"I would say it's pretty fortunate," I amend softly. "You should thank Achilles; you _would_ be dead if he didn't know CPR."

"Achilles knows CPR?"

"Apparently," I say, idly scraping the bark off a stick with a hunting knife. I slowly start to sharpen it to a point.

Arthur lifts his head and looks around the camp. "Where is Achilles, anyways? And…Clash. Where's Clash?"

Oh, right. "Clash is dead," I say calmly. "Achilles is out hunting. Oh, and…" I trail off, wondering what Arthur's opinion on Marina was. They were District partners. And, sure, I've held maybe three minutes of one-on-one conversation with Guadalupe, but she is someone from home. I would probably feel at least a little bad when she dies. "Someone else too."

"Who?" Arthur asks, sounding curious but not worried. "Is it one of the girls?"

"Ah, well, yes…" I trail off again, looking down at my hands as they mindlessly scrape bark off my stick. I tap the point, trying to figure out how sharp it is. "One of the girls."

Arthur is silent for a moment, as if contemplating something. "Wh…who was it?"

At my silence, Arthur sits up and demands, "Adrian. Who was it?" His voice cracks slightly, which I tell myself is just his throat healing, but I know it's not. "Who was it?"

"…Marina."

Arthur's face falls. "Oh."

_Make it interesting_, a voice in my head whispers. _Give them a show. Make this a part of the Games that interests the viewers. _"Did you know Marina very well before the Games?"

"I didn't know her at all," Arthur answers, shaking his head, his voice small. "I'd heard her name before—but almost everyone had. The girl who got her friend killed in a shark attack, the one who they decided they could afford to lose. Did you know Faustus decided since the six-ish eighteen-year-old trainees they had weren't good enough that Marina was the one they could most afford to lose out of the next group?" He looks down for a moment. "They had a male volunteer too. It's been a long time since 4 hasn't had too perfect volunteers at the ready—at least in a normal Games." He shakes his head bitterly. "And that happened to be the year I was Reaped."

"Hm," I say idly, still scraping bark off my stick. Before long there's not even going to be a stick anymore. "You said there _was_ a male volunteer? What happened to him?"

"I don't know," Arthur says. "I never exactly got the chance to find out."

"I can't remember the last time someone was Reaped from 2," I say, genuinely trying to think of the last time. "Hera MacKay, I think. One-Hundredth-Sixteenth-Games. But it had been decades, maybe even over a century between the instance of Hera and the last Reaped kid."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Arthur says rhetorically.

"Wasn't that girl from your district Reaped last year?"

"Yeah. I did say normal Games," Arthur defends quietly. "Do you think Achilles is doing okay?"

"I'm sure he is," I say, dropping my threadbare stick to the ground. "If he wasn't, wouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

As if to punctuate my sentence, a cannon fires in the distance.

_Guadalupe Dominguez, 18_

_District 2 Female_

"Bullseye!" Flourish yells from somewhere in the trees as the sound of a body hitting the ground is long drowned out by the cannon shot. "Anybody remember any tributes with black hair? He fell on his back and I can't really see his face from up here."

I swallow, leaning back against the thick trunk of the tree. At least this tree branch supports my weight. One less thing to worry about. "No, I don't really remember any tributes with black hair."

"Fragrance?" Flourish calls. "Any ideas?"

"I think it's Achilles," Fragrance answers. For a moment, we all delve into the natural silence of the forest. "Flourish! That puts the boys down to two!"

"You're right!" Flourish exclaims. "You're absolutely right! Hell yeah!"

_You're all crazy_, I think, shaking my head. At least the foliage will hide my face from the view of my allies. They can remain blissfully ignorant to my disgust at their reactions—Flourish just killed Achilles, and they are busy cheering that we have a leg up on the boys. I look down my hands, folded in my lap.

Don't get me wrong. I want to go home just as much as they do. I miss home. Of course I miss home. But I'm not going to sing songs and grin as I murder children. I'm not going to dance around and cheer at each cannon shot. If I'm going to win, I'm not going to make a show out of it.

Bloodshed has never been something I revel in. I just know that to win the Games, it is an inevitability. One hundred and fifty one years of Hunger Games, and not a single tribute has ever escaped without at least one kill to their name.

And maybe I'll allow myself to cheer when I kill the last person standing in between me and Victory.

But now? Now I'm not going to grin and laugh when I kill someone. Far too many tributes from 2 have gone into the arena and died because they wanted to draw out kills. Because they wanted to see some fraction of the blood they had been promised for all of their life.

"Anyone want to check and make sure it _is_ actually the boy from 3 we killed?" Flourish asks. If I look up at just the right angle, I can see her red hair peeking through the trees above me.

"Guadalupe," Fragrance says. "Go check the body."

"What? No!" I exclaim. "I'm not going to check a corpse for its ID!"

Fragrance barks out a laugh. "Nice one, Gua. But still, go check. We've gotta be sure before we brag about it, right?"

I heave a sigh as I carefully climb down the tree trunk. Fragrance wants to brag about killing Achilles. She wants to brag about Flourish getting him. She wants to cheer and laugh and joke about killing someone, and that's wrong. That's so wrong it makes me sick. Who cares if Achilles was enemy? He's still dead. Flourish still killed him, leaving him with no way to even fight back, or know what's happening before he died. She just shot him with a bow from a tree.

As I approach Achilles's lifeless body, I stop walking for a moment. I stare off into space, thinking of how the tables could have turned if Flourish had left that bow at the Cornucopia. The likelihood that I would be standing here beside a corpse with my remaining allies watching me expectantly from trees, all three of us armed to the teeth with Marina dead in a coffin is slim. Maybe if Flourish had left that bow back at the Horn of Plenty, I would be dead. I'm not sure how I'd feel about that.

Well, I guess I wouldn't feel anything. After all, I'd be dead.

I tentatively kick Achilles onto his back, showing off the large white _3_ emblazoned on his back. "It's Achilles!" I yell up to Flourish and Fragrance.

"Hell yeah!" Fragrance shouts. I can see her pumping her fist in the air. After a few moments, she comes sliding down her tree and walks over to me. "Guess we should clear out now before the body starts to stink, yes?"

"Yes," Flourish agrees, appearing at the base of another tree. The quiver of arrows is slung over her shoulder, the bow clenched tightly in her left hand. She walks up to Achilles and pulls the arrow out of his head, quickly and carelessly sliding it back into the quiver without even washing the blood off first.

What the fuck is wrong with some people? Just going to keep a little souvenir of your first victim? I shake my head and follow Fragrance from the clearing, afraid to spare a glance back at Flourish to see if she is following.

_Yama Oyeyemi, 14_

_District 11 Male_

We've run out of water, which has led us to where we stand right now in the growing darkness beside one of the geysers near the Cornucopia. I don't like being here. We're too out in the open, and we are in plain sight of the Careers, not to mention that I can feel the ground shake and pound with each step I take. The ground is hollow. It could collapse in on us any minute, and both of us would be dead before we could even think.

I pull out my notepad, scribbling down a note for Rylan. Communication gets harder at night. It gets harder for Rylan to read my writing, and it gets harder for me to read Rylan's lips. _I don't think this is a very good idea. _

"Water is water," Rylan answers, only half-facing me. "We'll just have to wait for it to cool off."

_I don't think that's the way it works. _Even though I turn the pad to show Rylan, he doesn't even notice it. I reach out and tap his shoulder. He doesn't turn. I tap him again.

"Yes, Yama, I know you don't like this plan!" Rylan exclaims, turning to me with an annoyed look on his face. He pulls our backpack off his back and takes out our empty water bottle. Carefully, he dips the tip into the water, apparently not even noticing that the plastic starts to melt.

I tap his shoulder again. _It's melting_, I sign, momentarily forgetting that he doesn't know sign language. My nostrils flare with annoyance.

Rylan doesn't appear to notice that I tap his shoulder his again. I scribble down another note and jam the pad against his shoulder. _It's melting, Rylan. You're just ruining our water bottle. _

"Yeah, I figured that out, oddly enough!" Rylan cries, grabbing my notepad and throwing it into the geyser.

I drop my pen to my side, looking at the sinking pad of paper, dumbfounded. He just got rid of my only way to communicate with people. Would anyone sponsor me another one? Maybe, after killing Clash and Marina with my bird. I clench my fist around my pen, cautiously getting to my feet and taking a few steps away. The ground quakes beneath my feet as I walk.

I can't believe him. What has gotten into him? He was fine yesterday. I did notice how testy he has seemed ever since Marina's death yesterday, but I figured it was just because we are running low on food and water. As it turns out, my eagle friend is only good for killing people and not finding food.

Shaking my head, I look toward the Cornucopia. I can see the sleeping shape of one of them laid out against the ground, but the other two are nowhere to be found.

Light floods my face, causing me to look up to see the anthem. It shows us one face—the face of Achilles, the boy from 3. Huh. I wonder how he died.

Only do I turn around when I drops of hot water burning into the back of my jacket.

And I turn around to see Rylan flailing in the geyser, his mouth wide open in a silent scream. I look around wildly, rushing forward with the futile hope of helping him, of saving him. Did he fall in? Did the Anthem startle him and cause him to lose his balance?

That's when I spot him.

The retreating back of a tribute, the moon reflecting off of his blond hair and showing the number emblazoned on his back: _4_.

He pushed Rylan into the water. He killed Rylan. He killed the last of my allies. He…_killed…Rylan…_

He should be fucking glad that eagle is off hunting. I clench my fists, staring at Arthur's back as he returns to Adrian, knowing nothing of the pain he has just caused me. He doesn't care. He doesn't care that he just killed my remaining ally, that he just forced Rylan to die a long, painful death. He's going to _fucking_ pay.

I find myself wondering if Rylan's cannon has sounded yet, forcing me to turn around and look. I don't want to look. I don't want to see him look like Marina did after she fell yesterday. I don't want to see my ally look like that. I don't want to see him dead. I don't want to know. I don't, I don't, I don't.

Rylan's body is beyond recognition, burnt and charred and oh my god…

I put my face in my hands and run across the hollow ground, thinking that even if it collapsed beneath me at that moment I wouldn't care. I wouldn't care if the entire arena exploded right now.

For the first time in all of my life, I really, really wish I wasn't deaf. Not even so I could have heard Arthur coming to kill Rylan. Not even so I could have known that Jayanne died before Rylan told me. Not even so I could have heard Daniel calling out for help.

No. I don't want to hear to benefit myself.

Victors always talk about the screams of the tributes they killed or watched die never leaving their minds. They talk about their screams echoing in their ears hours, even days after the fact. And it feels wrong to never know what Rylan sounded like in his last moments. It feels wrong to have his screams fall on deaf ears. It feels wrong to not have them ring in my ears as a constant reminder of my mistakes.

I never want to forget Rylan. I want to remember his screams. I want his screams to haunt my dreams and my every waking moments.

So many Victors would probably go through another Hunger Games to never know what the arena sounded like. But I just want to know what Rylan sounded like when he died. I just want to be able to remember that forever. I don't want to live in a haze of silence forever. I want to know. But of course, I never will.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_District 4 Male_

I killed him.

Fuck, I killed him.

He's dead.

Rylan is dead.

Because of me.

Me.

I killed him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why did I do it? Why did I push him in? Fuck, what is wrong with me? I can't do anything right…I couldn't just sit and guard the supplies like a good little tribute, no, I had to go and commit murder while Adrian slept soundly and Achilles's face was projected in the sky.

I'm such an utter fuck-up.

As I stumble back through the trees, vaguely aware that I am hyperventilating. _Can't even breathe right. _The ground blurs below me, either from too much oxygen or that there are tears in my eyes. It could be either. _Crying like a twelve-year-old. Macy Barker killed people! Wake Hammerfort killed people! Coin Quinneton killed people! Hell, even Valentine Vizzolini and Lammy Phyronix killed people! And they were all twelve-years-old! And you can't even push someone into a pot of water without breaking down and crying over it. _

My feet continue to move upon their own accord, powering me back toward the Cornucopia, where Adrian remains asleep, blissfully unaware to the way my entire world has just come crashing down with one simple push.

I think of a day when I was young, maybe four or five. The memory is unclear, sort of blurry, weathered with the passing years, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. My father had taken Sala and I out to a cliff that many Faustus trainees would go diving off of, and I had pushed my sister into the water. After Dad made sure Sala was okay, he told me that I couldn't do that._ Sala could have drowned, _he said. _You could seriously hurt someone if you catch them by surprise. They could die. _

Oh, the cruel irony.

Our camp appears, making me breathe a slight sigh of relief. At least I didn't manage to kill myself on the way back. _That's the only thing you're good at. _

I quickly shake Adrian awake. "Can you take watch?" My voice shakes. _Pathetic. He can't even talk right. _

"Sure," Adrian says, sounding slightly groggy, his eyes still clouded with sleep. "Are you okay?"

"It was Achilles," I stammer out as an excuse, feeling sort of light-headed. "The cannon from earlier from Achilles's…"

Adrian is silent for a moment as I stumble over my own feet, breathing hard. "Oh," he says eventually. "Was there a second cannon? Or did I just dream that?"

"Oh…um, I don't…I don't know," I mumble, stumbling further into the Cornucopia. "Maybe…I guess I feel asleep or something…I don't know…"

"Arthur, are you sure you're okay?" Adrian asks, real concern in his voice. That surprises me. Why should Adrian bother to care about me?

"Yeah, yeah, I'm…I'm fine," I murmur. "Tired."

He looks at me oddly as he sits up and grabs his sword. "Okay…if you're sure."

"I'm sure," I say in the firmest voice that I can. I feel sick. I feel faint. I feel just terrible in general. I'm such an idiot. I'm such an utter fucking idiot.

I curl up in one of our sleeping bags, but I don't sleep. I can't. Not after…that. I don't know if I'll ever sleep again. I don't know if I _deserve_ to sleep again.

As soon as I was Reaped, I knew I was going to have to kill to get home. It was an inevitability that I had convinced myself I was prepared for. But I wasn't prepared. I'm not prepared to deal with this.

Why did I push him? I could have just turned around and walked back to camp, and then none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have this on my conscious. I could sleep as soundly as one can in the arena and forget that I ever saw those boys by that geyser. I could forget about it, and move on with my life. I could have saved these thoughts for a later date, when I was actually close enough to winning that it seemed like a real possibility.

_Ha! He still thinks he can win. How adorable! He can't even kill people right yet he thinks he's going to do it again! He thinks he's going to do it enough times to win the Games! Hilarious!_

My face deepens into a grimace at the sound of the voice. That voice is right, but that doesn't mean I like what it says. Of course the voice is right about me. I can't even kill one person without having a mental breakdown about it. How am I ever supposed to kill more tributes, if I even manage to live long enough to see the finale? I'll never see the light on the horizon, the hope at the end of the tunnel, if I can't even handle killing someone that I hardly remember the name of.

I heave a nearly inaudible sigh, curling into a tighter ball on the ground. The crushing silence that reigns over the arena is worse than the rain. It feels like there is not another soul in the arena, that everyone is dead and I have been left here to rot. _Adrian is just on the other side of those crates_, I remind myself, covering my head with my sleeping bag. _He's fine. You're not alone here. Everything is fine. _

Eventually I drift off into a restless sleep, knowing I likely won't feel any less shitty in the morning.

**A/N: Angst! Angsty Arthur! Angsty Yama! Angsty Guadalupe! Adrian wasn't being very angsty but still! Angst! Also, new poll on my profile!**

**1\. Who did you**_** want**_** the cannon shot to be for?**

**2\. Is Guadalupe justified in being disgusted with Flourish and Fragrance?**

**3\. How would these Games have changed if Yama wasn't deaf?**

**4\. Is the voice in Arthur's head right about him?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: have your Final Eight predictions changed?**

**My Answer: nope. The Final Eight is the same it's been for months, although I did consider recklessly killing one of them a few chapters back. The only reason I decided against it was because I didn't know who I'd replace them with. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Broken Buddies 2.0:**_** Adrian (D2M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Now What?: **_**Fragrance (D1F), Guadalupe (D2F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**One-Sided Star Crossed Lovers: **_**Connor (D5M), Carter (D8M)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Loners: Melissandre (D12F), Delta (D3F), Shawn (D10F), Yama (D11M)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**15****th**** Place – Achilles Spearman (D3M). Shot in the head with an arrow by Flourish Jemsly (D9F). Submitted by Annabeth Pie. **

**I know a lot of people were really rooting for Achilles, but I could never see him as a Victor. I looked, and I just couldn't see it happening. It wasn't that he wasn't a strong or good character; that wasn't the issue. I just couldn't write him as a Victor in a way I saw as satisfactory. For another thing, I had no idea what to do for an arc for Achilles. I had no plans, no ideas, no random spikes of inspiration. I had nothing for him, and that is why I killed him here. I just couldn't justify keeping a static character when everyone else was going through crazy development. I'm sorry his death didn't get more focus. RIP. **

**14****th**** Place – Rylan Darlux (D9M). Shoved into a geyser by Arthur Singlewave (D4M). Submitted by HunterOfArtemis11.**

**Rylan, I am so sorry. You were such a wonderful character, but I could not justify you making it any further than here. I have always looked forward to writing you, but again, I could not see you as a Victor. It felt like too much of a happy ending. The abused triplet thief who has been overlooked his whole life gets exactly what he wants. It felt too perfect, and the Games are not perfect. But, rest assured, you will not be forgotten. You are going to do so much for Yama's arc. RIP. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 1 (Rylan)**

**Mercy: 1 (Daniel)**

**Flourish: 1 (Achilles)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** \- Rylan**

**-Amanda**


	34. Day 6 - No Waxing Moons

**TW for suicidal thoughts in Shawn's POV. **

_Warren Oto, 18_

_District 6 Male_

"I'm going to run up here and go to the bathroom!"

My head bolts up as I wildly look around for the source of the voice. Mercy remains asleep across the smoldering remains of our fire. Thank Panem. I was supposed to be on watch, not sleeping.

I hop to my feet, grabbing the hunting knife out of my pocket and creeping through the trees away from our camp.

I suppose it is inevitable that someone would find our camp. I should have seen it coming before now, but I suppose I'm paying for it. Maybe there would be a way to let them kill Mercy without it seeming like I let them—but I don't know if I'm reckless enough to take that risk. I don't know if I'm willing to risk Tabitha's life. Forget my own—I'd rather suffer than see Tabitha hurt.

The intruder's footsteps come closer, the sound of crushing leaves beneath their boots alerting me to their approach.

I hear someone unsheathe a knife, and at first I believe it's the attacker, seeming to have spotted me in the trees—but no, it's Mercy. She stands on the other side of the path, watching as the intruder approaches who is revealed as the girl from 1, her blonde ponytail shaking as she walks.

Fragrance walks past us, seeming to have noticed our camp and gone to investigate. She turns her head, opening her mouth, likely to alert her allies, at the same moment as Mercy jumps out of the trees and tackles her.

The girl from 1 screams in terror and surprise, writhing and desperately trying to escape. Mercy puts her knees on Fragrance's arms, holding her down against the dirt path.

"Fragrance?!" comes the panicked voice from a few switchbacks below. Mercy will kill her before they get here. "Fragrance, are you okay? Were you the one who screamed?"

Mercy clamps her free hand over Fragrance's mouth, taking the knife she unsheathed earlier out and beginning to carve the skin around Fragrance's mouth. Blood drips down the girl's face as she writhes, desperately fighting against Mercy's grip.

I put my head in my hands, crouching down in the underbrush. Fragrance starts to scream in pain moments later, making me scrunch my eyes shut. I've always known Mercy was horrible, half-insane, but I never—I never thought she'd take someone and torture them. I know she's killed people. I know the things she's done, most often with Tabitha by her side—but torture has never been in the itinerary.

After a moment I open my eyes and look up, and suddenly all thoughts are banished from my head. I don't think, I hardly even breath as I spring to my feet, looking at the horror that Mercy has turned Fragrance's face into—a bloody mess of cuts in all shapes and sizes, decorated her whole face, every inch of it covered in red. Mercy, of course, is never satisfied—there will never be enough blood for her, enough suffering, enough death—meaning she has moved on to Fragrance's neck, cutting just deep enough to keep her alive.

My vision blurs as I drive my shoulder into Mercy's, shoving her off of Fragrance and onto the dusty path. Mercy remains there, her head slammed against a rock and dead to the world.

I hold the knife over Fragrance's chest with shaking hands, taking in the bloodied mess that used to be the face of Fragrance Emst.

A second later, I drive the knife into her chest. A moment later a cannon sounds; _Fragrance's_ cannon.

I've killed people before. Late buyers, those who refuse to pay up—but I have no names, no knowledge of those people. They are just faces that I am forced to kill, or watch those I care about suffer or die. Only at the threat of the lives of those around me do I kill those late buyers—never like this.

_Fragrance would have died either way, _my mind reasons. _You saved her potential hours of suffering. You have know she wouldn't have survived after everything Mercy had done for her! _

I glance back down the path and once again hear the voices of Fragrance's allies, still several switchbacks below. "A cannon!" one of them shouts. "Fragrance! Fragrance!"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I call down to them, doing my best imitation of Fragrance's voice. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. "It was the…boy from 6! Stabbed him through the chest—his body is up here." _Okay, probably shouldn't have said that but whatever I'll deal with that whenever it becomes a problem—_

"Okay," one of the girls says slowly. "Is the girl from 6 up there?"

"Uh—no, she ran off," I reply. "I'll be down in a second! I still haven't gone to the bathroom."

"Okay," one of them repeats. "You're sure you're okay? You sound kind of…funny."

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," I reiterate, taking a step back and trying not to step on Fragrance's cold hand. "I'll be down in a sec…ond."

"Alright…"

I hear two pairs of footsteps walking further down the path, and I hop back onto my feet, jumping over Fragrance's body and grabbing Mercy's arm. I haul her unconscious form to her feet, slinging her arm over my shoulder and hurrying back to our camp. I throw as many things as I can into our backpack and take a deep breath. Fragrance's allies will be up here as soon as they realize Fragrance isn't coming, when they figure out that I lied to them, that I wasn't even Fragrance in the first place, oh god what have I done—

The girls turn around few moments later. I do the first thing that comes to mind: I hoist Mercy back up and throw caution to the wind. The ground on the other side of our camp is steep and probably not completely solid, but it sounds like a better plan that waiting for a couple of Careers to come and disembowel me, so I keep going.

If only Mercy hadn't been knocked unconscious, all of this would be a hell of a lot easier.

_Shawn Hamilton, 16_

_District 10 Female_

The silence after each cannon I have heard is one of the worst sounds in existence.

The distant, life-ending _boom_, followed by intense, pounding silence that seems to weigh down on my shoulders, reminding me that there is one less person alive, one less person I have to fear. With each passing cannon, that puts me one step closer to home. Closer to acceptance.

But deep down, I do think I know that I will never be accepted. And at this point, I feel it is no longer plausible for me to reach Victory. I am not a skilled person. I am not a strong person. I am simply a girl, caught up in a blame game, in which I refuse to put blame on myself while the rest of the world points at me for closure. I want to accept that it was all. My. Fault. I want to be able to stand up and say, "Yes, it was me. Maybe there were other factors, but I was the one who led her to suicide, the one who led her to such drastic measures." I want to be able to say that before I die. Yet somehow I know I will always be too stubborn to say it aloud, to accept that it was my fault, it will always be my fault, and my family will always name it as my fault.

They are right. And I know it.

I cannot even say it is because I have too much pride. No, I have no pride. I have never deserved to take pride in my own actions, in my own accomplishments—certainly not something like this.

The sound of the cannon shot still rings in my ears as I walk through the silent forest, the crushing quiet bearing down on my shoulders like weights. I have never liked the silence. But it is even worse now, as I wander alone through the arena with no purpose, no hope, no reason to even live on. Maybe I should have just thrown myself to the mines.

Movement behind me catches my eye, making me stop and turn around. It was probably just some animal. I shrug and keep going, unsure of my destination, knowing I will likely never arrive.

All I have done for the past five days is walk. And walk. And walk. There is nothing else for someone like me to do as I wait for death to finally claim me. Because when you have nothing to live for, what even is the point of living at all? That is right—there is none. And so yet I continue to walk, with no destination, no point, no reason to not just lay on the ground until I inevitably die. It would be bliss, perfect bliss.

It feels as if the only sound in the world is my endless footsteps, as they fall in infinite consecutive succession. _Step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step…_

Over and over and over again it goes, the only sound I can focus on in the whole world. There are no other sounds, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

"There's someone over there."

My head snaps up, my feet stopping their movement. No more sounds. No sounds to focus on.

"It's the girl from 10."

"Let's kill her."

Maybe a week ago I would have run. Maybe a week ago I would have been desperate to live, to prove my worth to my family and show them that I was not to blame. But today is different. Today I will not run. Today I will wait for them to come, and I will let them.

"You're…not thinking straight, Mercy. You hit your head—"

"So? I can still kill just as well—"

"We're not killing anyone else, Mercy! Haven't you killed enough? Haven't you ruined enough lives?"

"You're not ruining anything," I say aloud, spreading my arms.

"What?" The face of Warren Oto appears in front of me from the underbrush. His shirt is stained with blood, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion. "What did you just say?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Mercy snarks from somewhere out of my peripheral vision. I do not bother to turn my head to look for her.

"I'm not talking to you," Warren says, a hint of anger in his voice. He looks to me, his tired blue eyes awash with concern. "I'd say killing someone is ruining their life."

"I wouldn't," I reply emotionlessly, dropping my arms to my sides and allowing my shoulders to slump.

"I don't need that on my conscious," Warren says, running a hand through his already messy hair. He looks down at the ground for a moment, seemingly lost in through.

"I'll do it," Mercy volunteers, appearing beside her companion. Her shirt is also stained red, and her steps are slightly uneven. "You want me to kill you? I'll kill you—"

"Mercy, no," Warren says, putting out an arm to hold Mercy back.

"Let her," I say in a small voice. "I don't care anymore."

"Great," Mercy says, and the next thing I know, she has shoved Warren out of the way and stabbed a knife into my chest.

I fall to the ground, blood quickly staining through my shirt, and I stare up at the fake sky. The clouds drift lazily through the sea of blue, a pretty collage of colors that I could definitely fall asleep beneath…and the ground here is so comfortable, the grass so soft and the breeze so calm…

A face appears in my vision, blocking out my view of the sky and the trees and the clouds. I know that face. Whose face is that? His eyes are such a pretty blue…so alight with concern and fear…I could get lost in those eyes…

My own eyes fall closed as I stare into his, still wondering who I was even looking at…maybe now I will finally be at peace…I vaguely wonder if this boy with blue eyes will be joining me one day.

_Carter Sykes, 18_

_District 8 Male_

_BOOM!_

"Eleven left," I say aloud, pausing my steps for a moment. "Nine aside from us."

Connor is silent for a few moments as we continue to walk along the trail, deeper and deeper into the forest. "Who do you think it belonged to?"

"Who knows?" I reply. "It could have been anyone."

Connor nods slowly, adjusting the strap of our backpack. "We're running out of supplies."

"Maybe we'll get a sponsor," I say, my voice slightly tired.

"Maybe," Connor amends with an inclination of his head, but his voice is slow and exhausted. "We could try hunting."

"We have one little knife," I say, shaking my head. "That's not going to be easy."

"We could make weapons," Connor suggests, but even he sounds disheartened. After six days in the arena and no sighting of another soul, we have both started to get a little lonely, despite being in the company of each other. "…I think we should split up."

"What?" His words shock me so much that I stop walking, staring blankly into space as I try to comprehend what he just said. "You can't be serious. We can't split up—"

"Now's as good of a time as any," Connor says, shrugging as if this isn't a big deal. A shadow crosses his face. "We're going to have to split up eventually. Besides, I don't want to get attached."

I can't help but feel a little hurt. Deep down, I know that Connor is just trying to protect his own psyche and chance at Victory, but, damn, does it hurt. He didn't even try to be gentle—he just ripped the Band-Aid off, tore it into a million pieces, and threw the remains into an active volcano. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"We have to split eventually," Connor repeats, his voice firmer this time. He, too, has stopped walking, looking me dead in the eyes. His eyes really are something beautiful, gosh, I could get lost in those amazing seas of blue… "Carter, I really don't mean to be rude, but…if it came down to the two of us, I would not hesitate to kill you if it meant I got to go home."

I'm silent for a moment, taken aback by Connor's words. I _know_ he wants to go home to his girlfriend. I _know_ he has a life he wants to live. But I, too, have a life I'd like to live. I want to grow old. I want to find someone to love—someone who will be more than a crush on someone who doesn't want to even know my name.

I also know that Connor is just trying to live. He doesn't want to see me as a person, as a human with hopes, dreams, ambitions, family back home who are biting their nails every time my face shows up on the screen. He wants to see me as a tribute. He _knows_ it will be easier to say goodbye if he views me as someone to kill instead of someone to befriend.

That's just his strategy. Me, though? If I were standing over Connor with a knife, knowing that if I walked away, he would get up and kill me, would I be able to kill him? Would I be able to thrust that kind of grief upon his loved ones? Could I ever do that to someone? I honestly don't think I could.

I don't want to die; I don't think anybody does, not really. And _that_ is why I don't think I could kill Connor. Even some nameless tribute, just a face that I don't know the name of, a person that I just have to kill. I don't think I could do it. I don't think I could stab someone, stab the life out of them. I don't think I could ever snuff out a life.

"Oh…um, okay," I say, ducking my head and looking at my muddy boots.

"Well, I guess we should split the supplies, then," Connor says decisively, sliding the bag off his back. "We don't have much, but there's enough to last both of us a day or two."

"The Games won't be over by then," I mumble.

"Whatever. I can get more—and I would assume you can, too," Connor says, lifting his head. He splits our supplies more or less down the middle, handing half to me and putting the remaining back in the backpack. He gets to his feet, slinging the bag over his shoulder, then holds out his hand for me to shake. "Well, I'd say this was a good alliance. It was nice to get to meet you, Carter."

I half-heartedly shake his head. "Yes. Uh, likewise."

Connor nods sharply once before he turns around and walks off into the forest.

I don't know how long I stand there, my arms full of meager supplies, as I watch Connor's back disappear into the trees. I remain there as the temperature starts to drop, making me shiver, but I hardly notice. My feet stay planted long after Connor's silhouette in the darkness of the evening has become undistinguishable from the rest.

I wonder if I'll ever see him again as I turn around and start back down the path.

_Delta Bishop, 15_

_District 3 Female_

I can't feel my fingers.

Scratch that—I can't feel my _anything_. My body is rigid with cold, curled into a tight ball in an attempt to conserve body heat.

Spoilers: it's not working.

There's no snow—not that I expected there to be, but in cold like this, it feels weird to be looking out of my little tree alcove and see the world just dark, not blanketed in white. I'm no stranger to cold or snow; 3 saw its fair share through the winter months, and when you are constantly running from home to home in hope of evading the Peacekeepers, you are acutely aware of how cold it could get at night. When you were camped out in an abandoned gear factory with a broken heating system and nothing but a summery yellow dress to wear, you toughened up. You learned to ignore the cold, the burning in your very bones.

But it's just so damn cold. A freezing wind blows around the arena, carrying drafts of frigid air right into my little tree alcove. It's crossed into 'so cold it's warm' territory, making me shiver violently as I curl tighter around my legs, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket.

The moon is hanging high above me, bathing the forest in white, unearthly light. One thing I've noticed in the past six days is that there is no cycle of the moon; every night, it is full. Two months ago, it would have made me want to scream. The moon cycle is a huge part of SALP back home—certain events can only happen on certain day of the cycle. Weddings can only happen on the new moon. Funerals can only happen when the moon is waxing.

Those events, those rules, are just things I always accepted. I never questioned it as wrong, as odd, even—it just was, and that was, to me, how everything was in all of Panem. But that is just another thing that I don't know if I can believe.

Almost two weeks ago, I spoke to Achilles on the train ride to the Capitol. He told me about when his father died—and I had asked him if there was a certain day his funeral had to be on. He had looked at me like I was crazy. _Of course not_, he had said. _It was a week after he died. No special day. No special reasons. _

Oh. That's right. Achilles is dead. I wonder if his funeral has happened yet.

Do they have funerals for those who die in the Games? I know they are buried in the Tribute Graveyard, no exceptions—but I've never even seen the place. I've hardly had contact with the world outside SALP for my entire life. The only people I had seen prior to being Reaped who didn't live like me were the Peacekeepers trying to kill me and other kids at the Reapings.

And now I just feel lost. As I lay here curled into a ball beneath the roots of a partially-uprooted tree, freezing in the middle of the night in the arena of the One-Hundred-Fifty-First Hunger Games, I have no answers. I will never have answers. I will never know what to believe and what not to believe. I will never get to know if I was raised wrong or if the people of SALP really were correct about Panem—

I will never know, and that makes me want to scream.

I have never asked for much in my life; begging, pleading, or anything of the sort was terribly frowned upon back home. I have always been grateful for what I have. I have never asked questions if I wasn't supposed to. I've always been a blind follower, a believer who needs no evidence before I decide my stance. If my mother or father told me this was what I was supposed to believe, I believed it.

Now I want that to change. Now I want to decide for myself. Now I want to make my own decisions, forge my own path, ignore the teachings of SALP and live the way _I_ want to. I don't want to adhere to moon cycle events. I don't want to be the girl that everyone looks down on for being the weird one.

Yet some part of me still believes everything I have been told for the past fifteen years. Who wouldn't? No one would be able to cast aside all of that so quickly. I was a blind believer for so many years, and suddenly all of that has come crashing down around my ears, leaving me stumbling around in confusion, hoping to bump into some answers. And maybe I will spend the rest of my meaningless and likely short life looking for those answers. Maybe there aren't even answers to my questions—even if I get out of this Panem forsaken arena, will there be anything waiting for me back home? Will my mother ever want me back? Will Gabriel still see me as good company? Will I be all alone, with no one to answer my questions and nowhere to go?

As another shiver courses down my spine, I let out a sigh, watching my breath form in the air. I guess there is only one way to find out what lies in wait for me at home. I'll have to win the Hunger Games to get home, and everyone knows that is easier said than done.

**A/N: Eleven left (I think? Don't quote me on that). I was looking at TYAU the other day and realized how quickly those Games went—like, I originally had fifteen days planned. And it ended up at, like, eleven, I think?**

**1\. Was Warren right to mercy-kill Fragrance at the cost of angering Mercy?**

**2\. Is this how Shawn finally finds peace?**

**3\. What will become of Carter now that doesn't have Connor by his side?**

**4\. Is the moon cycle thing cool or weird?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: who are you rooting for?**

**My answer: well, the Victor, obviously. But I don't really have to root for them, since I'm the one writing it. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Broken Buddies 2.0:**_** Adrian (D2M), Arthur (D4M)**

_**Lol Who Knows?: **_**Guadalupe (D2F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Loners: Melissandre (D12F), Delta (D3F), Yama (D11M), Carter (D8M), Connor (D5M)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**13****th**** Place – Fragrance Emst (D1F). Mercy-Killed by Warren Oto (D6M). Submitted by AnnaBanana. **

**Oh, Anna, I'm sorry. Fragrance was one awesome tribute with a hell of a backstory, the likes of which I have never seen before and probably didn't do justice to. I have always loved this fiery girl, and she was supposed to make it further. Then she was brushed to the side in favor of tributes I believed people were going to root for more—and they did. You consistently got zero votes on later polls, which is really what led me to this decision. RIP. **

**12****th**** Place – Shawn Hamilton (D10F). Stabbed through the chest by Mercy Mitsui (D6F). Submitted by LordShiro. **

**Shawn was a tribute I never really connected with. I always felt like I was writing her wrong and could never truly capture what she was supposed to be. In my notes, she is still written down at ninth place. I killed her in a spur-of-the-moment decision, realizing all of my plans for arcs for her had gone down the drain when I forgot to write her a day two POV—which is all my fault, and thus, this is where she ends up. I'm sorry, Shiro. RIP. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 1 (Rylan)**

**Warren: 1 (Fragrance)**

**Mercy: 2 (Daniel, Shawn)**

**Flourish: 1 (Achilles)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** – Rylan**

**DAY 6**

**13****th**** – Fragrance**

**12****th**** \- Shawn**

**-Amanda**


	35. Day 7 - Stanley The Murder Eagle

_Yama Oyeyemi, 14_

_District 11 Male_

The temperature slowly starts to climb higher as if it follows the sunrise. I didn't really sleep last night—I was too cold, too lonely, too scared, too cold, I was just so cold—

I miss Rylan.

I miss Jayanne.

I miss Daniel.

Who would have guessed that the deaf boy would be the last one left out of our alliance? Certainly not me—and although I will never complain to being closer to getting out of here and going back home, it hurts some part of me that has not gone numb to know that each cannon means someone just died. Someone out there is hurting for Marina, for Clash, for Rylan, for Jayanne, for Daniel…someone must hurt at each cannon shot, and it's just weird to think that I caused two of those.

Yet at the same time, I feel like everything has begun to go numb. At each cannon, I no longer think of what was just lost, but instead of what I just gained. One less tribute. One less fight. One less person I have to kill. I have never been one to seek out trouble; I much prefer to avoid it all together. Life can be much more peaceful if you don't look for fights. There's plenty of excitement to be found in the calmer things. And that is the reason I feel no need to seek fights, to seek the other tributes. It always seems to find me, anyway.

I just miss home. I want to go back to the golden fields at sunrise with Seraphina and Mahmud, back to the aviary with all of the birds. But I know, even if by some statistically unlikely event I do make it home, I will never be able to look at those birds the same way. All I will ever see is the bloodied claws of my eagle friend with Clash's eye dangling from its beak. I will never again see the beauty in these birds; I will only see the bird who killed for me.

Said eagle friend remains perched on my shoulder as I slowly walk through the forests with no real end goal in mind. I have nowhere to go. No destination to work toward. I have iodine. I have food. I have plenty of supplies. I don't need to raid the Cornucopia. I have nothing interesting to do with my time.

I'm just lonely. I want to be done with this arena, and go back to a place where I don't have to constantly look over my shoulder.

I give my head a slight shake, startling my eagle friend. I should give him a name. I'll call him Stanley. Stanley the Murder Eagle. A small laugh bubbles out of my mouth at the thought. Stanley is not the kind of name you'd expect a murder eagle to have.

Stanley moves his wings, making me look up at the same time as I spot movement in the trees. I set my jaw, looking around as if someone is going to jump from the trees and stab me through the heart.

Can you blame me? It's the Hunger Games.

Stanley shifts again on my shoulder, anxiously flapping his wings. One of his feathers falls to the ground as he opens his beak in a silent caw.

I continue to search the surrounding trees for any signs of movement. They must be close, and getting even closer. After a moment, I move over to one of the bushes lining the clearing, crouching in the underbrush. Through the trees, I can see the geyser spraying water at the sky.

Stanley lifts off my shoulder, going to rest on a branch above my head. I glance up at him, wondering what tribute I've run into.

Another flash of movement.

Adrian's footsteps slowly stop as he enters the clearing, his eyes landing on Stanley in the tree. His head slowly turns as if he is searching for something. He doesn't know the eagle belongs to me, does he? He's never seen me with it. And Clash didn't exactly live to tell the tale…

When Adrian's eyes land on me, crouching in the bushes, he takes a step backward, probably from shock. He doesn't know what I've done. He has no reason to fear the fourteen-year-old deaf boy from District 11. I don't exactly look threatening.

I get to my feet as Stanley flutters down to once more rest on my shoulder. I slowly shut my eyes for a moment before Stanley strikes. I don't want to watch this part, but it's a part I feel obligated to see. If I'm going to kill someone, I should at least have the courage to watch them suffer, no matter how morbid it sounds.

And strike he does. His talons slam into Adrian's forehead, raking across the boy from 2's face. Adrian opens his mouth, likely to cry out in pain as his sword rears up to hit Stanley. He misses by a mile, his sword cutting a wide arc through the air and shredding a few low hanging leaves.

Stanley pumps his wings hard as I scramble to my feet. Adrian makes another attempt to stab Stanley, nicking the eagle on the top of his head and sending a few bloody feathers drifting lazily toward the ground.

All thoughts are banished from my head as I run to Stanley's aid. The bird throws himself back on Adrian's face, clawing at his eyes and skin. Adrian's mouth continues to be wide, his words and screams once again falling on deaf ears.

I take his moment of distraction and run with it. His swords makes another arc through the air, and instead of dodging it, I throw my hands out and catch the blade. It cuts deep into the skin of my hands, making them slick with blood, but I ignore the pain and tighten my grip on the sword. I rip the sword from Adrian's slackened grip, clumsily turning it around.

Clenching my bleeding, screaming hand around the sword handle, I shakily lift it.

Adrian finally grabs Stanley and throws him to the ground, stamping on the bird's wings to keep him there. A sort of blind rage fills my veins, and I stop thinking at all.

I lift the sword above my head and bring it down on Adrian's shoulder. The sword sinks into his arm, making Adrian's face contort in agony. His legs give out and he collapses the ground, his arm almost completely separate from his body.

I stare at the wound for a moment, the blood which pours out of it, staining the grass and all Stanley's feathers, and I gag. My knees feel weak, forcing me to the ground. I hold my head in my hands as Adrian writhes in agony, somehow still alive.

Suddenly a sword connects with the back of my neck, and I know nothing more.

_Guadalupe Dominguez, 18_

_District 2 Female_

The first cannon is followed by a second a few minutes later. "Nine left," I comment idly, breaking the tense silence that has filled the air ever since early yesterday, when we realized Fragrance wasn't coming. When we realized we'd been lied to and were too oblivious to realize it until it was too late. Maybe if we weren't so thick-headed, we could have gotten Fragrance's killer. We could have gotten revenge, avenged our fallen ally.

"Let's hope it was those assholes from 6," Flourish answers bitterly. "Although I'd much rather be the one to put an arrow through their skulls than someone else."

It wasn't hard to figure out it was the pair from 6. They left most of their supplies behind—a sleeping bag, a bottle full of water, a dying campfire—giving a good clue that there were two people camping there. For another thing, they wouldn't lie about who the cannon shot belonged to if they weren't sure we couldn't run into the boy from 6. Or maybe it wasn't them, and we're just seeing the outliers as much smarter than they actually are.

Eventually, I imagine Flourish and I will come upon another tribute that we can kill. Eventually, we'll come upon some sort of action that we can get our anger out on. A fight. Another tribute. Someone we can kill. Preferably one of the assholes from 6, as Flourish has so lovingly dubbed them. It seems fitting.

We drop back off into silence, our footsteps on hard-packed dirt becoming the only sound to be heard. I shove my hands into my pockets, all too reminded of the cold that seeped into my bones last night. It was the kind of cold that was so sharp it seemed to burn. Flourish and I had huddled together for warmth, which was not something I ever saw myself doing, but it was either that or freeze to death. I was surprised there were no cannons—it seemed like perfect hypothermia weather. It could get pretty damn cold in the winter back in 2, but that could not hold a candle to what it felt like last night. It felt as if the air itself had frozen solid, leaving Flourish and I incased in ice, just waiting to finally freeze to death. Each breath was so frigid it practically burned my lungs, like a thousand knives had been stabbed through them each time I inhaled.

The day now is rather pleasant. Birds are singing in the trees. The sun hangs high over our heads, in the middle of its lazy arc. All around us, the trees are bathed in sunlight, the temperature comfortable but not hot. Nothing looks like it was freezing last night; but even if it had snowed, I can't imagine it wouldn't have melted by now.

"I think we should make a…pact, of sorts," Flourish says suddenly, tearing me away from my thoughts.

"What? What kind of pact?" I have a theory, but I'd prefer to be wrong in this instance. I don't want to be alone. The arena is mostly unknown to me; we've pretty much kept to the same general area for the past week. Damn, has it been a week already? It feels like just yesterday I sat down on the train with Hestia, Varen and Adrian…I wonder how Adrian is doing right now. It's just him and Arthur now, isn't it? I wonder if they're making a pact too…

"A pact…a pact about splitting up," Flourish answers, her voice getting more confident with each word. "The last thing I want is be in the Final Two with you…" She trails off as if gathering her words. Her bright blue eyes dart back up to my face and she adds, "So, I think we should split at the Final Eight. One more death. Deal?"

I swallow thickly and look at the hard packed dirt as it blurs beneath my feet. I don't want to be alone. Not when there is someone else who is my ally, and could totally remain that way…but maybe Flourish has a point. I don't know if I could kill her if it came down to the two of us. I suppose I am to much of a coward to find out… "I guess you're right."

"Deal, then?" Flourish clarifies, her eyes almost…fearful. She wants me to say no. She wants me to go back on what I said, so we can stay together and she won't take the fall for it. She wants me to stay to protect her…did she set this up? She doesn't want to split, she just wants me to look cowardly and indecisive…

Well, you know what, Flourish? Fuck you. "Yes. Deal."

Flourish's eyes dart to the ground for a millisecond before she looks up again. "Great. One more death."

_Your loss, Flourish_, I think angrily. _You're the one who was so sure you wanted to split up. If you die, don't come crying to me. After all, I have a Hunger Games to win, eight tributes to kill, and a life waiting for me to come live. _

_Melissandre Grey, 17_

_District 12 Female_

I'm no stranger to cold. The amount of people I've seen on the streets of 12 with their mouths agape after falling to the ground, dead from hypothermia, their fingertips blackened with frostbite…well, I'd rather not relive that. I've had nightmares of seeing Jaxson and Lyanna like that, as I stand by, unable to do a thing but watch them freeze…and I am in no hurry to have more.

12 deep freezes every year. The cold comes in mid-November and doesn't leave until the end of February, if we're lucky. It snows mountains, making food even scarcer than usual. People drop like flies during those months—sometimes literally, just falling to ground on the streets from cold, starvation, dehydration…a number of causes.

But this cold? This cold is…different. It's artificial. For one thing, there's no snow. For another thing, I can literally _feel_ the temperature drops as it follows the descent of the sun. Once the sun is heading back to the horizon, all warmth is banished from the air and the only place to go is down. Down, down, down the temperature goes as I search for a good place to spend the night, wishing I had grabbed that sleeping bag I'd seen by the Cornucopia during the Bloodbath…and, who knows? Maybe if I'd gone in to grab that sleeping bag, I wouldn't even be here, so the cold wouldn't be my problem.

I shake my head. _Damn it, Mel! You can't afford to think like that. It's just one more night. There won't be cold tomorrow. Everything will be just fine. You just have to keep your head on straight and make it back to Jaxson and Lyanna. _

My stash of purifying packets is running out, too—I still have three, but even if I'm careful with my water intake, that's not going to last through another eight deaths. That is a foreign thought to me. There are only nine of us left. I'm so close to Victory that I can almost taste it, but so many things have to happen before I get there… the stars have to perfectly align, or else I'm screwed. And I can't afford to lose, not now. Not that I don't have faith in Jaxson and Lyanna's abilities to provide for themselves, but Lyanna's health has been failing and Jaxson has some…sketchy late-night activities.

The setting sun peeks through the trees, shining in my eyes as I climb a tree to spend the night in. I settle on a thick branch about halfway up the tree and pull my hood up around my ears. I slide my backpack off and unzip it, pulling out the parachute from the sponsor gift I received earlier today—a pair of gloves, thank Panem—and use it as a blanket to the best of my ability. I pull the sponsored gloves on as well, huddling down in preparation for a long, frigid night.

It takes me less time than I thought it would for me to drift off, sleeping but not really sleeping. The wind picks up as I rest, making me shiver in my sleep.

"I told you, Mercy, you need to sleep or else you're just going to hurt yourself worse—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. It's _just_ a head wound, Warren. It's not like it's going to kill me."

"That's not how it works."

My head snaps up, as I look around, still slightly groggy. I reach up and rub sleep from my eyes as I look around, locating Warren and Mercy standing on the path below my tree. Warren holds a lit match in his gloved hand, moving it around quick enough it's a miracle he hasn't managed to put it out yet.

Mercy stands beside him, her face lit eerily by the match in Warren's hand. Anger is clearly written in her features, although it is slightly obscured by the bandage wrapped around her head.

"It's a _concussion_, Mercy, not a small nick—"

"Do I look like I give a fuck?" Mercy has her hands on her hips, making her look a lot less threatening than she is probably aiming for.

"Well, it's your funeral," Warren says, annoyed, shrugging.

"Since when are you a doctor?" Mercy demands.

Warren doesn't answer. Mercy plows on. "Oh, that's right! You're not. So I'm going to prescribe whatever the fuck I want to, and you better be glad I don't stab you right now—"

"Oh, like you'd do that—"

"Try me, asshole!"

"…I took all of your knives while you were unconscious."

Is this guy honestly an idiot? Mercy just threatened to stab him, and he tells her he took all of her weapons? At least she doesn't have weapons, but he could have come up with some sort of lie to satisfy her. I almost shake my head before catching myself—any slight movement could tip them off to my presence, and I'd rather live to see the temperature climb again, thank you.

"What the fuck, Warren?" Mercy shouts. "Maybe I'll just strangle you to death, then!"

Warren takes a step back, his gaunt face dancing in the firelight. "Like I couldn't fight you off if I had to. I have all the weapons, remember?"

"You better watch your fucking mouth," Mercy snarls, stepping closer to Warren's face. He drops his arm, letting the match fall from his slackened grip. "You idiot!" Mercy screams as Warren hurries to stamp it out. Once they are both sure it is sufficiently stamped, they step away from it the burnt-out match like it has done them great personal wrong.

After a few moments, Mercy shakes her head, grumbling about how idiotic Warren is. She starts trudging away, leaving Warren standing alone on the path. He strikes another match, shaking his head and shivering in the cold. He remains standing there for a few moments before he looks up.

His eyes lock with mine.

All the breath is stolen from my lungs as I stare at him. He stares back. After we stare at each other for what couldn't have been much longer than a few seconds but felt like hours, he gives me a one finger salute and jogs after Mercy.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_District 4 Male_

The second night is worse.

At least last night I had Adrian there to talk to. And talk we did. We talked all night. We talked about anything that came to our minds. He told me about his twin brother, waiting for him back home. I told him about Sala. He told me he has always wanted a dog. I told him I used to love the color blue, but now it just makes me think of water. He told me his father had been verbally abusive to him and his brother when they were little kids. That was why he needed to win; so he could get his father prosecuted.

And now he's dead.

It wasn't the sound of the battle that woke me up; it was the sight. It was visible through the trees. The screeching bird, the bloody feathers flying, Adrian's sword being knocked all over the place. I was half-awake, kind of groggy, but I guess loyalty runs deep—even to those you met two weeks ago. So I grabbed a sword and the next thing I knew, Yama's head was on the ground and Adrian was bleeding out. The ground had been stained with his blood and Yama's, probably some of the bird's as well…and, of course, more on my hands.

First, Rylan.

Then, Yama.

Who's next? Maybe it will be me. Would I complain? Would I try to stop someone from killing me? Do I _deserve_ to try and save myself? Do I deserve to win? Do I deserve it over someone else, like Yama or Rylan or Marina or Adrian or Achilles or Warren or Daniel or Guadalupe or anyone left?

…I don't think I do.

I don't think I deserve to have outlived so many tributes. I don't deserve any piece of luck I've been handed.

The whistling wind barely pierces my halo of thoughts. The cold barely feels like cold anymore. The air feels thick, each breath frigid and biting, but I deserve it. I killed Rylan. I killed Yama. I deserve everything that I've been hit with. Clash died because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Adrian died because I wasn't quick enough. Rylan died because I didn't just turn and leave. Maybe Fragrance, Marina, Achilles…maybe all of them would still be alive if I had been better. Maybe it really is all my fault.

Cold eats at my lungs and my skin as I lay on my side, sheltered by the Cornucopia with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. It feels too quiet, too still, too calm. The silence weighs down on my shoulders, like a ton of bricks resting on my back. I stare off into space, not really blinking but certainly not asleep. I wish I could sleep. Sleep is bliss. Bliss is silence. Silence is freedom.

A sword lays discarded a few feet away from my hand, still stained with Yama's blood. I sluggishly reach out and push the blade away. I don't want to look at it. I don't want to see the blood of someone I killed.

I reach into pocket of my jacket and pull out the feather. A harmless little bloodstained eagle feather. It had been clenched in Adrian's remaining hand when he died. I'll never forget what I saw when I cut off Yama's head. Adrian, laying in a pool of blood with no arm attached to his shoulder…a sword laying a few inches away from his detached hand…as he laid, dying, on the grass. He hung on for a few minutes, but soon the light had left Adrian's eyes and I was alone. I'm still alone.

And I _deserve it. _

Of course I deserve to be alone. I deserve to be the one who bled out in a field with my arm cut off from body. I deserve to be the one who died alone in a forest. I deserve to be the one pushed into a geyser and burnt to death. I deserve to be the one with his head cut off. I don't deserve to have outlived any of these people. So many deaths that were all my fault…so many people that will never go home, and it's my fault.

I shut my eyes for a moment, staring at the black behind my eyelids and wondering if this is what Adrian sees. If this is what Clash, what Achilles, what Rylan and Yama and Fragrance and Marina and Jayanne and every tribute that has died in these Games are seeing right now. Or maybe there is no consciousness after death, and they just cease to exist.

I wouldn't mind ceasing to exist right about now. My dad has always said things seem worse at night, but I can't imagine sunrise is going to make this any better. It hasn't in the past, so why is that going to change now?

**A/N: Hey, this chapter is late, but whatever. This week feels like it lasted a year. I need more sleep. **

**In other news, this story is officially over a hundred-thousand words! That's my record for anything I've ever written. **

**1\. Why do tributes always get really popular right before I have them dying? Clash, Marina, Yama…**

**2\. Once Guadalupe and Flourish split, who do you think will last longer?**

**3\. Should Warren have attacked Melissandre?**

**4\. Will Arthur be able to pick himself back up?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: We are on the brink of the Final Eight. Who do you predict will die next?**

**My answer: obviously I can't answer that. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**Lol Who Knows?: **_**Guadalupe (D2F), Flourish (D9F)**

_**Friends? Enemies? Siblings? Lovers?: **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

**Loners: Melissandre (D12F), Delta (D3F), Carter (D8M), Connor (D5M), Arthur (D4M)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**11****th**** Place – Yama Oyeyemi (D11M). Decapitated by Arthur Singlewave (D4M). Submitted by LordShiro. **

**This has been the hardest death to write for me. I**_** adored**_** Yama to the ends of the Earth. He was such an amazing character, someone to root for, and certainly helped me grow as a writer. I've never written a deaf character, let alone from said deaf character's point of view. Yama himself had a personality I am not very experienced in writing—I tend to model characters after myself, and I certainly am not peaceful—which I fear sort of got lost as we got deeper into the Games. I could just say it was character development, but it was more of me just being a bad writer. I'm sorry to short change you, Yama. RIP. **

**10****th**** Place – Adrian Corvinus (D2M). Arm cut off by Yama Oyeyemi (D11M) and bled out. Submitted by Sparky She-Demon. **

**Adrian was a tribute, similar to Shawn, that I felt I was never really writing correctly. I felt like I could never really pinpoint his personality and where he fit in the Career pack. He never really **_**spoke**_** to me like so many other characters in this story have, which is made it hard for me to find his voice. He felt, to me, sort of like the Cash of this story. I never really connected with him, and he almost works better dead. RIP. **

**Honorable Mention – RIP Stanley the Murder Eagle. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 1 (Rylan, Yama)**

**Warren: 1 (Fragrance)**

**Mercy: 2 (Daniel, Shawn)**

**Flourish: 1 (Achilles)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash, Adrian) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** – Rylan**

**DAY 6**

**13****th**** – Fragrance**

**12****th**** – Shawn**

**DAY 7**

**11****th**** – Yama**

**10****th**** \- Adrian**

**-Amanda**


	36. Day 8 - If A Tree Falls in the Forest

_Connor Merlyn, 18_

_District 5 Male_

The cold slowly recedes from my bones as I force myself to keep moving. I didn't sleep last night. The cold was just too biting. I ended up aimlessly wandering the woods, hoping I'd find someone I could hide out the cold. Of course, I had no luck—I just kept meandering all night, shivering and just trying to keep my body heat up.

I'm just so _done_ with this arena. I miss Sabrina. I miss my friends. I miss all of 5—a place I never thought I'd want to return to—down to the smog that fills the sky and the gang-filled streets. It's so, so much better than this stupid, geyser filled arena.

My hands still shiver and shake as I finally settle down on a log, deciding to light a small fire. Just to warm my hands up. I'll put it out before anyone can see the smoke. I just need a moment.

I slide my backpack off my shoulders, my hands stiff and shaking with cold. The temperature still hovers low, not as frigid as it was last night, but still cold. I give my head a slight shake as I pull out the handful of matches I still have—I gave the other half to Carter when we split.

Carter.

I'll admit I haven't thought very much about him since we split. I'll admit I didn't really think about him _before_ we split, either. It felt like he was always just…there. Our alliance hardly benefited either of us—we never came upon other tributes. We just sort of…wandered, with no destination in mind and the only thing to keep us occupied being conversation. Carter was a pretty good conversationalist. That was one upside.

My hands shake as I strike a match, realizing a moment too late that I don't have any wood gathered. I swear under my breath, looking around for a piece of wood I can use as the match burns in my hand. I resort to jumping to my feet and setting the match on the log I had sat on.

The log lights, the fire slowly spreading across it. I stick my hands toward the flames, feeling the warmth build up on my skin. That feels much, much better. My shoulders relax as I spread my fingers and—shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The handful of matches that were in my hand fall from my fingers and into the flames. A series of _pops_ sound through the clearing. I scramble backward, watching in terror as the flames spread from the log to the dry grass. I remain standing still for a moment before I suddenly snap back to reality. I turn around, sprinting and hopping through the trees, the roar of the growing blaze behind me. The wind whips around my ears as I run, stumbling over my own feet.

Fire doesn't spread this fast. It must be spurred on by the Gamemakers…but I still caused it. I still stupidly dropped those matches—how could I forget I was holding them? How could I drop them into the flames? How could I cause a fire that may very well get me killed?

The sound of a burnt tree cracking and tumbling rouses me as I look up just in time to dodge the offending trunk, ducking underneath the flames. It catches my hair, making me stop to desperately put it out. A few chunks of charred brown locks fall to the ground in my wake.

I shake my head as I run, still tearing through the trees with the flames slowly disappearing behind me. No more trees fall, thank Panem. I can still distantly see the crackling, smell the smoke in the air, feel the heat on my back. A bead of sweat runs down the side of my face.

Only do I stop when my side starts to ache and my breath is coming in short puffs. I turn around for a moment, staring off into the distant flames. I now stand out in a field, watching smoke billow toward the sky. My eyes and lungs burn. Sweat runs down my back.

I caused that.

That fire. I set fire to a forest. People could die. _I_ could have died. And it would have been my fault. I've always said everyone makes mistakes and that all you can do is grow from them…but now do you grow from potentially committing murder-via-arson?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my thoughts, only to inhale the thick smoke in the air and almost choke. My knees feel weak as I cough with all my might until the smoke leaves my system.

With the dancing flames behind me, I turn and continue to walk, wondering what to do now. My backpack is surely burnt to a crisp by now, I almost lost all of my hair, but hey, at least my hands aren't cold anymore.

_Melissandre Grey, 17_

_District 12 Female_

The sound of hissing is what wakes me in the morning. I look around blearily, rubbing grit from my eyes. As I look around, I find myself wondering if the Mercy-Warren sighting was a dream or not. I decide it must have been, since there's no way Warren would have seen me yet not attacked…right? It's the Hunger Games. I can't imagine seeing someone, being armed and prepared to attack, and not actually going through with it. It just doesn't make any sense. But then again, I have never been in Warren's position, and it's doubtful I ever will be.

All thoughts of Warren and last night are banished from my head when I spot the flames. They race toward me through the trees. I'm on my feet, gathering my stuff and leaping from the tree I camped in in mere moments. My feet pound against the ground as I run, trying to organize my supplies and put it all into my backpack.

Flames leap and scream at me from all sides. The smoke in the air makes it hard to see—and breath. I wheeze a little as I try to find a way through the flames. I run toward a nearby, sturdy-looking tree and start to scale it. The smoke begins to make me light-headed. I pause for a moment, clinging to the tree trunk and shut my eyes. The smoke makes them burn. When I reopen them, everything spins.

I continue to climb higher, ignoring the branches as they get thinner and weaker. The smoke is just as thick up here, and it clouds my thoughts. When there are fires…aren't you supposed to go…down? Instead of up? Is that how it works? That's how it works. Fuck.

I mutter a curse and slowly start climbing back down.

And then the tree start to splinter.

"No, no, no, no, no," I mutter, putting my face in my hands. I slide the down rough bark and rest on a large branch, terrified to open my eyes. I need to get off of this tree. I need to get off of this tree. I need to get out of here. I need to get home. I need to get out of the fire. I need to get out of the smoke. Out of the flames. Out of the danger. I need to. I need to. I _have_ to. I can't leave Jaxson. I can't leave Lyanna. They need me.

When the trees starts to teeter dangerously, I scramble to my feet, fighting to find footing on my branch. I lean back on my heels and throw myself forward as the tree turns and topples backwards. My hands clench around a thin, flimsy branch tightly, leaving me hanging tens of feet above a fiery blaze which promises certain death.

It feels like a scene out of one of those action movies Daniel watched back in the Capitol. The brave heroine faces death head on and miraculously escapes, running off to save the day, kill the villain, and still somehow find time to gush about how amazing the Capitol is.

Except as I hang limp here, desperately kicking my legs toward a thicker branch that might support my weight, I doubt that will be the case. I'm not some attractive actress with a camera crew capturing my amazing stunts. I'm a real person, facing death in the face and still trying to run from it.

My arms start to shake with exertion. _Come on, Mel. You've got so much to live for. You've got to keep fighting. You've got to get out of here. _Be_ the brave heroine and find a new way out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out of this arena and return to District 12. To Jaxson and Lyanna. Live your life. There's much you have to do. Come on! You can't give up. There's still so much you haven't done. Haven't you always wanted to see the ocean? Haven't you always wanted to see Jaxson and Lyanna get to together? Keep fighting for them! Keep fighting for your future! You still have a whole life ahead of you. You can't waste it here. _

I set my jaw and cautiously inch my way further across the branch. My muscles scream bloody murder at me, protesting every little movement as if they have the power to transport me somewhere safer. I ignore the screams and continue onward, gaining a little bit more confidence when my feet can touch a solid, sturdy branch if I kick hard enough.

_Snap!_

And just like that, it all goes to shit.

My feet disappear from underneath, sending me toppling headfirst into the air. Wind rushes by my ears, making my hair whip around my head.

As I fall, I have a sort of out of body experience. I see myself falling from a third-person point of view, as if watching from the perspective of a Capitolite. I fall in slow-motion, my hands desperately and futilely reaching upward as if they will suddenly grow and be able to grab onto something.

I imagine this as the beginning of a movie; there would be a voiceover, where I would be saying something along the lines of _I bet you're wondering how I got in this position. Well, it's a rather funny story. For you to understand, we'd have to start at the beginning…the _very_ beginning_. And once we reached the climax of the movie, something would come along to save me at the last minute.

But this is real life; not an action movie that Daniel would watch, curled up on the couch late at night in the Capitol. Daniel is dead. And soon I will join him. There is no ship to come at the last minute to pluck me from the sky right before I hit the flames. There is no grappling hook to pull out of my backpack. There is no way out.

I slam back into my body with a practically audible _thunk_. A small puff of air leaves my mouth as the heat behind me reaches a crescendo. I don't scream. I don't cry out. I don't move. There is nothing that can be done, and thus, there is no point to draw my own death out. I will always fall. I will always hit the flames. I will always die.

The heat screams in my ears, and I know nothing more.

_Carter Sykes, 18_

_District 8 Male_

Sweat runs down through my eyes as I run, flames closing in on me from all sides. Heat bears down on me, pounding its way through my skull to mingle with the smoke that clouds my thoughts and makes my lungs burn with each breath. My eyes sear, darting around through the haze that fills the arena. The sound of pine cones bursting vaguely penetrates my muddled thoughts, the crackling of flames falling on even deafer ears.

I leap over a fallen log, my head whipping around wildly as I continue my search for a point of escape. It seems like there is nothing. The flames dance and pounce, mixing together in a violent blaze of oranges, reds, maybe even blue if I really squint.

A pond. A shiny, glassy-surfaced pond. I make a mad dash for the shimmering water, throwing myself in with a loud _splash_. I sink for a few moments before I push myself back up to the surface, treading water in the surprisingly-deep pond.

The cold of the water is refreshing. Besides, I'm closer to the ground. Heat rises. Smoke rises.

My head continues to swivel as I float, trying to figure out where to go from here. The smoke is still thick, and it hangs over my head like a gray, suffocating veil. I doggy-paddle toward the edge of the pond, my soggy boots resting on the sandy ground. I shake my head, trying to rid my hair of excess droplets before I pull myself out of the water and start to run.

Maybe running soaking wet isn't the most fun thing I've ever done, but it's better than being dead. I feel more alert, less like I'm being microwaved.

My soggy boots slam against the ground as I run through the forest, finding the fire cutting a path straight through the trees. Between the trunks, I can see the group of buildings, the Cornucopia. Maybe I can reach that. Find a place to hide in the buildings. Don't go to the Cornucopia. Tributes there. Don't want to die.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. The pounding doesn't recede. I push my legs, trying to go faster, to get out of here quicker, got to get out of here, don't want to die.

_Hiss! Snap!_

My head turns just in time to see the flaming tree fall toward me. I throw myself out of its path, and then white hot pain blossoms in my left leg. I cry out, clenching my hands around the ash-covered grass on the ground. Black spots wash through my vision as I lay on the ground, trying to pull myself out from underneath the tree trunk.

I grit my teeth and grab onto two rocks, partially buried in the dirt. With my eyes shut tight, I drag myself forward, hearing the tree roll away, but the damage is done. The black returns to my vision immediately, leaving me incapacitated on the ground, trying to fight it off. If I fall unconscious now, I might die. No, I'm sure I _would_ die. And I'm too stubborn to die like this. I refuse to die on the ground in the arena of the Hunger Games with the Cornucopia just across the river with my leg charred and burnt. I refuse to die with the sound of pine cones exploding, wood splintering and footsteps pounding on my skull.

Wait. Footsteps?

Someone rolls me onto my back. I crack my eyes open, looking at them with blurry vision. It's certainly a person, I'll give them that. Their face is partially obscured by their shirt, pulled up over their nose. Damnit, why didn't I think of that? That would help to filter out the smoke—it wouldn't make it healthy, but it would help.

His—it's definitely a guy—shirt is moving like he's talking, but I don't hear any sound. After a moment his face disappears from my peripheral vision. My head pounds. My leg screams. Fire still distantly crackles all around me.

I don't want to die. I _refuse_ to die. Call me stubborn. But I refuse to die on the ground of this arena with fire all around me and some unnamed figure standing nearby.

Suddenly someone grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet. Everything recedes to black for a few moment before thudding back into focus. I look around blearily, the pain of my leg making me sharply away of everything.

"Come on, you gotta work with me here," says a voice from somewhere beside me. With effort, I lift my head, making my vision swim.

"Wha…?" I say, my voice slurred with pain and delirium.

There's no reply, but I try to move with him as he drags me forward. He moves a lot faster than I can, or than I can make my feet move. They simply slip along the ground as I fight to even remain conscious. I vaguely wonder the identity of my…savior? Captor? Potential murderer? Who knows at this point? Certainly not me.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaims and my vision blurs as he moves faster, running down the hill toward the river. He pauses just a moment before plunging into said river, running as fast as he can while carrying deadweight like me through the water. _Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash! _My clothes are still damp from my impromptu swim from earlier, but the spray is certainly a good wake up call.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," he says over and over again. I hear something whiz past my head—a knife? An arrow? Who knows? Not me.

Suddenly my legs catches on…something, and black washes into my vision again. This time, I am unable to fight it off and I drop into unconsciousness, wondering if I will ever wake up.

_Mercy Mitsui, 16_

_District 6 Female_

"Fuck!" Arthur shouts from the other side of the river, Carter now hanging limp in his grip. "No, no, no, no, no, no, Carter wake up, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—" He glances back at us with fear in his eyes before he starts to drag Carter up the hill and toward the Cornucopia.

I turn to Warren and grab hold of his wrist. "Come on! Let's kill them."

Warren glances toward the ground before his eyes dart toward the raging fires behind us. Smoke hangs thick in the air, obscuring everything in sight and making it difficult to breath. I'll admit—not out loud—that I've never been in a burning building, or near any sort of out-of-control fire, meaning the best plan of action I have is to pull my shirt over my mouth and throw as many weapons I can in Arthur's general direction. And seeing as Warren has sapped my supply of sharp objects, that is much more difficult than it should be.

I start to run down the hill through the suffocating smoke, coughing and hacking as I go despite the fabric covering my mouth and nose, when something catches me and pulls me backward. I cry out in surprise, immediately whipping around and tearing myself from their grip. Warren's face appears through the haze, staring at me imploringly. "What the fuck, Warren? Let me go after them!"

"Yeah, you wanna die?" Warren cries. "We've got to—" Suddenly his words are cut off as he doubles over, coughing violently. "We've got to get out of here. Too much…too much smoke."

"Whatever," I growl. "Also, Warren—if you die on me, I will hunt down your soul, kill you again—" I, too, fall to my knees as I hack with my entire body. "The—buildings—out of the smoke—"

"Great idea," Warren says in a tone that doesn't tell me if he's being sarcastic or not. Not that I give a fuck right now. Anything to get us out of the smoke.

I stagger to my feet and down the hill, falling face-first into the river from the fact that I couldn't see it until it was right there. I splutter as I stumble through the water, occasionally trying to find Warren and make sure he's okay. "Warren?" I call, my voice hoarse and raspy. Is the smoke getting thicker, or am I getting deader? I can hardly see…I can hardly breathe…this is certainly not how I expected to die.

"Here!" Warren cries from…somewhere to the left. I can hear his footsteps splashing through the river, making his presence known but I can't see him…I can't even see my own hands. The smoke is so thick it may as well be solid. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

I speed up my stumbling footsteps. I refuse to die in a river from smoke inhalation. That's a stupid-ass way to go out. If I'm going to die, I'm taking someone down with me. Preferably someone like Guadalupe. I hate that bitch.

Eventually I stagger out of the water and up the sharp, hollow incline. My footsteps echo on the ground, making me acutely aware of the fact that the ground could collapse right now. Would that leave Warren trapped in the river? Would the _river_ collapse and kill both of us?

Move. Just keep moving. Move and don't stop. Don't stop until you can breathe. Don't stop until you find a place to pass out, throw up and maybe sob, but not in that order.

I've never experienced something like this before. Shoot outs? Check. Fist fights? Check. Executions? Check. But staggering through a river with smoke so thick I can't see two feet in front of me? Definitely new, and I definitely don't like it.

Throwing caution to the wind, as always, I charge over the ground, the boardwalk, the black sand, my feet slapping the ground methodically. Run. Run. Run. Run. "Warren?" I call again. The smoke is slightly thinner. I can see my feet now. But I can't see Warren. I can't see the Cornucopia. I can't see the buildings. But I can hear someone coughing. "Warren!"

I finally spot him on the ground, coughing up a lung. I turn around and sprint to his side, ignoring how my eyes and lungs and everything in general burns. "Warren," I say. "Come on. Get up. Don't you fucking dare die here."

"Ooh, a compliment—" Warren starts, only to be cut off by more coughing. "Amazing."

"If we both live through this, I'm going to murder you," I say, completely serious. "Now come on. On your feet. Chop, chop. I can't breathe."

"Me, neither," Warren mumbles. He pushes himself up on his elbows, shaking. I turn away, coughing again.

"Come on," I repeat for what feels like the seven-hundredth time. "Hurry your ass up, or I'm going to leave you here." He doesn't move. "I swear to fuck, Warren, I'll leave you here to die. Is that really what you want? To die alone in a haze of smoke after coughing up enough blood to die from blood lose? Is that what you want, huh?"

After a moment, it becomes apparent that Warren _can't_ hurry his ass up. I swear angrily and grab his arm, slinging it over my shoulder before I drag him to his feet. I could have left him there to die. Maybe I'm more human than I thought.

Together we stagger toward the hazy outline of one of the buildings. I yank open the door slamming it behind us and breathing a sigh of relief. Air. I can breathe, at least a little bit.

Needless to say, we collapse. Warren crawls over to the wall and throws up. We cough ourselves into oblivion. Warren hands me our backpack, showing me the half-finished water bottle. I'm amazed he managed to keep a hold on that. I take it from him and take a sip. It feels good on my raw throat. "We're going to need more," I say. "Somehow we have to get back to the river."

Warren is silent for so long I wonder if he has passed out. He lays a few feet away from me on his back, staring at the ceiling with red eyes. "I thought you were going to leave me out there."

"Cool," I say emotionlessly. "Water, though."

"Why didn't you leave me out there?" With effort, Warren sits up. "It doesn't seem like you to come back for someone."

I shrug. "'Cause I felt like it, now help me fix the water situation."

"Maybe it will rain…" Warren trails off, and this time he really does pass out. I shake my head, using the wall to get me to my feet. I grab the hood of Warren's shirt and drag him across the floor, marveling that he manages to remain unconscious. I drag him into the gift-shop, shoving him into the corner filled with stuffed animals. I shove a display off books off a table and take a seat on it.

I don't know what made me go back. A week ago—hell, two days ago I would have shrugged, said 'oh well' and kept going. Warren is nothing special. Maybe it was out of respect for Tabitha.

As I sit on the table with a mess of books around me and Warren laying unconscious on a pile of stuffed bison, I convince myself that must have been the reason. Yet I have two reasons as to why it can't be: one, I've never really 'respected' Tabitha. Two: that's just not it. I don't what the reason is, and I guess I don't really care. What's done is done.

**A/N: Final Eight time! New poll about it on my profile! Yay for polls! I have too many of them!**

**Also, in other news, 'tis the time of year for the SYOT Awards on the SYOT Alliance forum! The mods mentioned advertising, so I figured I'd do that. Check it out. **

**1\. Thoughts on the Final Eight?**

**2\. Any surprises in said Final Eight?**

**3\. Rank the remaining tributes on a most likely to win to least likely to win scale. **

**4\. Predicted Placements?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: how many days do you think there will be in the Games?**

**My answer: I keep going back and forth between including one day of no deaths or not. So I don't really know at the moment. **

**I feel like I'm channeling my english teacher with these questions.**

**ALLIANCES:**

_**What is their relationship? **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

_**Arthur's Pity Project: **_**Arthur (D4M), Carter (D8M)**

**Loners: Delta (D3F), Connor (D5M), Flourish (D9F), Guadalupe (D2F)**

**(I know that Flourish and Guadalupe splitting up wasn't touched on in this chapter, but it did happen and will be explained next chapter.)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**9****th**** Place – Melissandre Grey (D12F). Burnt to death. Submitted by SparrowBirdEliza. **

**Melissandre was a tribute I enjoyed writing immensely. Her composed demeanor was something I've rarely written before, which made her interesting to explore. I feel like I didn't give her the attention she deserved—seems to be a trend with me and District 12 Females—and I've been trying to remedy that in the past few days, but it was a little late to really start. Ninth place is one of the worst places to get, second that only to second place itself, since it's just outside of an achievement, but someone has to take that place, and it just happened to be Melissandre. RIP. **

**Fun fact: in both DAH and TYAU, the District 12 Female has placed ninth. Let's hope to break tradition next time around. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 1 (Rylan, Yama)**

**Warren: 1 (Fragrance)**

**Mercy: 2 (Daniel, Shawn)**

**Flourish: 1 (Achilles)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash, Adrian) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** – Rylan**

**DAY 6**

**13****th**** – Fragrance**

**12****th**** – Shawn**

**DAY 7**

**11****th**** – Yama**

**10****th**** – Adrian**

**DAY 8**

**9****th**** \- Melissandre**

**-Amanda**


	37. Day 9 - No Answers Needed

_Warren Oto, 18_

_District 6 Male_

When I come to, I blearily peel my eyes open and stare at the ceiling for what could have been seconds and what could have been years. Everything feels fuzzy. It reminds of that time I got shot in the leg when a late buyer tried to fight back…my eyes start to drift close only to snap back open.

"Finally you're awake," Mercy says snidely from a few feet away from me. "Took you fucking long enough."

"Yeah, nice to see you too," I mutter, pushing myself up on my elbows. I glance back and find myself draped out across a pile of stuffed animals. All of them have been knocked off the shelves surrounding me, presumably…was that Mercy's doing? No, Mercy would never do that. That's like asking Mercy to dance naked and covered in chicken feathers in front of her father…

"You remember anything from yesterday?"

"After the fire started? No." And I'm not lying; it's all of blur of gray haze, flames and pain. "Where are we?"

"In a gift shop," Mercy says, shrugging. She's seated on a small, square table and looks like she hasn't slept in a week. "We should get out of here pretty quick though—the fire might spread to this building and then we'll be goners."

"But the smoke?" I ask, squinting toward one of the windows. Everything is still sort of blurry.

"It poured rain last night, clearing most of it out but the fires are still going strong," Mercy explains, sitting crisscross and pulling her feet toward her. She looks oddly like a young child. It's an odd picture.

"I'm not even going to think about how that one happened," I say, trying to sit up straighter.

Mercy _laughs_. It's not her strange, sickly-sweet, I'm-about-to-murder-you laugh. It's a normal laugh. A happy laugh. And one that scares me more the murder one. "The Gamemakers are insane. Who knows what they've cooked up?"

"I'd recommend we not say that," I mumble. "Do we have any water?"

Mercy takes out our backpack and chucks it at my face. "In there," she says. "There's about half a bottle left; we need more."

"Mercy…when was the last time you slept?" I ask, looking at her tired eyes oddly. There are dark circles under said tired eyes.

"I dunno," she says. "What? Do you expect me to keep track of that?"

"Most people do." I shrug. "With all due respect…you look like you haven't slept for a week."

"Yeah, well, you weren't exactly waking up, even when I slapped you across the face, so I was stuck keeping watch all last night and making sure the building didn't start to burn down while you peacefully slept on your bed of stuffed buffaloes."

Mercy is…weirder than usual. That worries me. That makes me…scared? Yeah, scared. It worries me more than normal Mercy does. At least normal Mercy is somewhat predicable. See a tribute, stab them. But this Mercy…what changed? Why would anything have changed? I've known Mercy for years and she has never changed. Not once. Every time I've seen Mercy, talking to Mercy, heard Mercy talk, even just been in her general presence, she has been the exact same person. Rude. Sadistic. Cruel. Completely lacking in the empathy department. Yet in one night, she turns over a new leaf. Although, she was acting slightly strangely yesterday…I think. Maybe I dreamed that part. Who really knows at this point? When you've been passed out from smoke inhalation for the past who-knows-how many hours, you start asking yourself those kinds of questions.

"So you want us to leave?" I ask instead of voicing my concerns. Knowing Mercy, she wouldn't appreciate them. But maybe I don't know Mercy at all.

"Yeah." Mercy messes with one of her fingernails for a moment before she continues. "This place could catch fire and we could get trapped. 'Sides, this place just…" She looks around as if someone is about to jump from the ceiling tiles and shoot us in our heads. "I don't know about this place. It feels like someone died here."

_Maybe someone did die here,_ one voice in my head says. _Welp, Mercy's lost it, _says another. I'm inclined to agree with the latter voice. Mercy has never once in her life been peeved by a place feeling like someone died there. Actually, she's more likely to feel comfortable if she knows that someone suffered here. I just don't get.

I shakily get to my feet, helping Mercy gather our supplies. It's a huge departure from the first few days we were in here, when I did everything while Mercy stood by and supervised. I almost…don't like it. It feels wrong, and it makes me wonder what exactly has gotten into Mercy.

As we walk out of the gift shop and into the greater museum, I find myself wondering if I'll ever understand the mind of Mercy Mitsui or if I'll die trying.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_District 4 Male_

Carter passed out last night when I was stumbling through the smoke with him. We reached the Cornucopia and I simply shoved my head under a blanket, trying to breathe and almost forgot about Carter. Only when it started to pour rain did I remember he was there.

And now here I stand—or rather, sit—beside Carter as he sleeps soundly. I'm exhausted, drenched to the bone, freezing and still partially unable to breathe.

So, yeah, a lovely start to a day.

Not to mention that it feels like hundreds of people are breathing down my neck as I try to do anything. Tend to Carter's burns? Everyone is watching me. Go to sleep? They're still there. Breathe like a normal human being? They're still there. They're always there, whispering in my ears about how I did that wrong, how everyone hates me now, how I have no reason to go home since I won't even be welcomed, how Jackly and Elva and Dad hate me and Sala and Mom would hate me too if they still were alive…

I've wanted to scream for days now. But I'm determined to keep a vague hold on my sanity.

Everything has just…completely gone to shit. Carter isn't dead, though. At least there is that. I'm no doctor, but I found burn cream in a first aid kit way in the back of the Cornucopia which certainly helped. His leg is now bandaged and slathered in cream, hopefully not completely destroyed since that's pretty much a death sentence this far into the Games. I've hardly even spoken a word to Carter but I'd rather he not die because of my subpar abilities to heal him. _Look at him, can't even wrap a leg in bandages correctly. It's not that hard! Even an idiot like you should be able to figure it out. _

I shake my head, taking in a deep breath. The smell of smoke still hangs heavy in the air. The fires still burn across the river. The smoke still drifts toward me. I keep my shirt up around my mouth and nose but it doesn't help very much. The smell is still strong. My lungs still burn with each breath.

After sitting on my knees for a few moments, I shakily get to my feet and walk over to Carter. He remains unconscious, which is probably good, since he'd be in a lot of pain right now. I think, at least. What do you want from me? I'm an archer, not a doctor. _An archer without a bow. Pathetic. _

As if in reply to the voice's words, I hear distant sonar and spot a sponsor gift lazily making its way toward the ground. I leap over Carter and jog toward it as it lands softly on the ground with a little _plunk_. I throw the parachute a few feet away and pull off the top and…

A little gasp escapes my lips as I look at the gift.

_A broadsword._

"What…how?...expensive…" I mutter, marveling at the sword, perfectly fitted for my hands. It's so much nicer than the ones they had at Faustus, and worlds better than that one I stole from said academy for use of Jackly, Elva and I. I run my hands over the handle, still unable to fully comprehend what I hold in my hands. This must have cost so much money. I'd prefer a bow but…I lost the sword I used to kill…um, him, in the fire. There were no other swords in the Cornucopia, hardly any other weapons to begin with.

_Yeah, right. Like a new sword is going to do the work for you. And you know what? If you hadn't been so careless to let Flourish get away with the only bow in the arena, you could have saved Adrian. You could have saved Rylan a hell of a lot of suffering. It's your fault some poor guy in the Capitol gave up hundreds of thousands of Caps to get this into your hands. It's your fault. It's always your fault. _

I turn the sword over in my hands, staring at it as if it is about to pulled away from me. It feels right in my hands. I've never been a melee sort of person. I prefer to stay as far away from the central conflict as I can. I would rather just shoot arrows at people from a tree or something rather than actually attack them.

And then I notice the two pieces of paper. Curious, I pick up the first and read the few sentences scrawled on the pristine white paper. _This sword cost me half a million Caps, kid. Better make it count. -a very rich friend with hopes for your Victory. P.S. tried to get a bow. Cost too much._

I clench my hand around the paper, crumbling the edges. _A friend_. _With hopes for your Victory_. I snort. Someone wasted half a million Caps on me. That's practically an arm and a leg. I've never seen that much money in all of my life, yet now I hold it in my hands. I shake my head and grab the second letter.

_Arthur, _

_Just keep your head on straight. We're pulling for you back here, but it's up to you to go the distance. There's only so much Alec and I can do. Good luck and keep fighting. _

_-Chance_

_Delta Bishop, 15_

_District 3 Female_

When the fire started, I ran. I ran. I ran. I ran until I couldn't run anymore and then I kept walking. I didn't pause to catch my breath. I didn't stop to take a break. I kept moving. I didn't stop until I physically couldn't keep moving anymore. And even then I didn't think. I just collapsed on the ground and passed out. My body had been screaming at me for hours, but I didn't listen.

And even now, I don't listen.

I don't know where I'm going. I don't know where I've been. But I don't really care. My muscles protest every movement. My minds both whirs continuously and doesn't make a sound. I don't want to think right now. I don't want to do anything but move. Just keeping moving. Don't stop. If you stop, you'll have to think, if you have to think, you'll have to wish for answers, if you wish for answers, you'll wish you had someone to talk to, if you wish you had someone to talk to, you'll start talking to yourself. And when you start talking to yourself you start wondering if you're going to die in the next few minutes and that just opens a whole can of worms I'd rather not even look at.

So I keep moving. I walk and I walk and I walk, telling my body to shut up and suck it up. If I keep running from my problems, they'll never catch up. I'll run until I can escape and find the answers I so desire. Those answers have begun to hang on my every waking moment and haunt my dreams at night. That's another reason I keep moving. If I'm so tired that I just faint on the ground, then I'll sleep so soundly I won't dream at all. The ghosts of District 3 won't come to haunt me tonight. I will find an escape.

Every moment that passes is one less moment I have to spend in this godforsaken arena. One less moment I have to live, haunted by how little I know. Because, when you really get down to it, I know nothing. My whole life, I have been so sheltered and covered by the beliefs of SALP that I know nothing.

I can't die not knowing. I can't sleep tonight not knowing. I can't stop moving not knowing. I can't do anything without knowing. It's either die or know. It's either die or get answers. It's either win or lose. And I can't afford to lose.

I shake my head. _Stop thinking, Delta. Shut if off. Shut off your mind. Let the train of thought crash and burn. Thoughts lead to questions. Questions lead to answers, except I won't get answers if I get sidetracked. And guess what? You get sidetracked—next thing you know, you're dead. Keep fighting. Keep moving. _

_Never run from your problems, Delta, _my father used to say. _Face them head on. Confront the issues in your life before they eat you alive. _

But who knows if my father was right? Maybe it's best to keep running. Maybe it's best to sprint and hide and avoid my problems.

My problems scare me. I know there is a slim chance I'll ever get home. I'm not exactly Victor material. You look at someone like Macy Barker, and you go 'yeah, she's a Victor'. You look at me? You go, 'yeah, she's a Bloodbath.' There's no one out there rooting for me.

It just means I'm alone in my fight, and I intent to fight tooth and nail to get what I want. I'm tired of being passive, of being walked all over. So maybe I run from my problems. Maybe I'm afraid to confront my fears. But I am done with being pushed over and walked on and passed by. Delta Bishop is someone notice, and I am tired of being ignored. I'm tired of fading into the background. I need answers, and answers can be found if I fight for it. Answers can be found if I show to people that Delta Bishop is someone to root for. I have to prove to all of Panem that I am someone to watch, that I am someone to cheer for and to love and to root for.

I am _done_ with being ignorant. I am done with being spat on by passerby who see me as lesser. Delta Bishop is not lesser. I am someone to see, not see through. I exist as much as any other person. And I exist to win. I exist to get answers. I exist to get what I _want_.

I'm tired of being told what to do, what to believe, when I can mourn someone, when I can get married, who I can get married to. Fuck moon cycles. Fuck my parents. Fuck SALP. I'm here for answers, and I'm not going to stop until I get them.

Because, oddly enough, I am a real life person, with real life feelings, ambitions and thoughts. I don't exist to conform to my mother's words, to marry who she says I marry, and to believe what she says I believe.

I am _fucking_ tired of it. I'm fighting in a death game and yet I still torture myself with questions I don't want answered. I don't need answers. I can make my own answers. I can decide what I want to believe. It doesn't matter what I'm "supposed" to believe. I can believe whatever the _fuck_ I want to believe. I'm my own person. To hell with answers. I don't need answers to be happy. I can answer my own questions, believe what I want to believe, and be who I want to be. And if the folks back home don't like that? Who gives a fuck? Certainly not me. I'm going to get out of this arena, and I'm going to watch SALP burn for what it has kept from me.

Because Delta Bishop is not a coward, but she's no hero, either.

**A/N: Yay for really short chapter but I needed these scenes for ~things~ so here we are. This really isn't a full chapter, even, I just needed these scenes for what is to come so I figured I needed to write this chapter. I'm hoping for Day 10 to be out soon since that chapter is actually going to be interesting and fun to write (and hopefully to read) so I can promise death next time. I'm just feeling really motivated right now! I want to get a Victor crowned in this story so we can head on over to BPOE!**

**So, pop over to the SYOT Alliance forum and you can find the submission form to BPOE if you're interested. **

**1\. What has gotten into Mercy?**

**2\. Are Arthur's chances better now that he has a good weapon?**

**3\. I don't have a question of ask about Delta. Is she cool?**

**4\. Which of these three POV tributes is your favorite?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: do you care if I skip the Family Interviews? I'd really rather get to the interesting stuff. **

**My answer: please. I don't want to do them. They're going to suck. If I'm being entirely honest, I completely forgot I even had to do them until I was almost completely finished with this chapter. **

**ALLIANCES:**

_**What is their relationship? **_**Mercy (D6F), Warren (D6M)**

_**Arthur's Pity Project: **_**Arthur (D4M), Carter (D8M)**

**Loners: Delta (D3F), Connor (D5M), Flourish (D9F), Guadalupe (D2F)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**None.**

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 1 (Rylan, Yama)**

**Warren: 1 (Fragrance)**

**Mercy: 2 (Daniel, Shawn)**

**Flourish: 1 (Achilles)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash, Adrian) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** – Rylan**

**DAY 6**

**13****th**** – Fragrance**

**12****th**** – Shawn**

**DAY 7**

**11****th**** – Yama**

**10****th**** – Adrian**

**DAY 8**

**9****th**** – Melissandre**

**DAY 9**

**None.**

**-Amanda**


	38. Day 10 - This Is How Things End

**TW for suicidal thoughts in Flourish's POV.**

_Flourish Jemsly, 17_

_District 9 Female_

Alright, so maybe I made some mistakes.

Maybe I shouldn't have suggested Guadalupe and I split.

Maybe I shouldn't have shot Achilles.

Maybe I shouldn't have believed Fragrance was actually okay.

Maybe I shouldn't have tried to make Guadalupe look like a fool.

Maybe I shouldn't have taken that bow.

Maybe I shouldn't have even joined the Career girls in the first place.

…maybe I should have just chugged the iodine when I had the chance.

But it's too late to go back now; now I'm alone, running from fire that diligently follows me like a lost puppy, wishing I still had Guadalupe by my side. Hell, I'd take Marina back if it meant I could talk to someone. Smoke burns my eyes and lungs. There are burns all over my body. Fear still creeps into my skull at all hours, keeping me up and making me go back and forth, over and over again.

_You could do it, you know, _one voice will say.

_She needs to live, _another will counter.

It's like there's a devil and angel on my shoulders, arguing about whether or not I should just plunge an arrow into my neck and end my suffering. Angel says no. Devil says yes. They argue for hours until I can't handle it anymore and scream at them to stop. And even then they continue to scream at each other.

It makes me wonder if killing myself would make them shut up.

It also makes me wonder if I'm going insane.

Two days ago, there was a cannon. Guadalupe and I were in the forests by the overlook, near where Fragrance died. We were watching the fires burn when the cannon sounded. And what Guadalupe did next was just so…heartless. It was so unlike her I wondered if I was allied with the wrong girl.

Guadalupe grabbed her backpack, turned around and said, "Bye." Before she walked back down the path without another word. I had been so surprised I had stood there for the next ten minutes with my mouth still agape.

And now here I am. All alone. In a forest. By a road. With a backpack with half a bottle of water and a knife I stole from the Cornucopia late last night inside of it. That's all I have, aside from two arrows and a bow. So, basically—if someone attacks me, I'm sitting ducks. I've never been good with a bow, even though I managed to hit Achilles square in the head.

That's why I freeze when I hear voices.

"Can you drop the fucking subject already? It was a one time thing, so shut up about it."

I clench my fists around my bow. _The sixes. They're everywhere, aren't they? You know what? They killed Fragrance. My friend. My ally. They deserve to pay. They. Deserve. To. Pay. _

Anger burns in my eyes—or maybe that's just the smoke in the air—and I lift my bow, locating the pair from 6 standing on the opposite side of the road, blissfully unaware to my present. I slowly load an arrow, knowing I have two arrows and two targets—I have to be fast. Best to get Mercy first…

I carefully draw back the string, aiming at Mercy's head and…I let it fly.

The arrow nails Mercy in the stomach, making her fall backwards in shock as she cries out in pain.

I hurriedly grab the other arrow and knock it back as Warren reacts, snatching up a knife. He throws the knife at the same time as I let the arrow fly:

The arrow misses by a mile. But the knife does not.

It strikes me just below my breast, slamming into me with such force that I collapse onto the ground and splutter painfully. I roll onto my stomach, trying to get rid of the knife, get rid of it, get rid of it, get rid of—

In these last two weeks, I've imagined my death so many times it felt like it already happened. But I was wrong about all of it—I knew nothing. I knew nothing of death. I knew nothing of the pain that is causes, of the pain that now blossoms in my chest from Warren's knife. I knew nothing of the slow, aching feeling of losing myself as the life drains from my body like water dripping down a wall. It's slow, a horrible feeling of foreboding that envelops my whole body as I lay on the ground, staring at the sky. The clouds move slowly. Everything appears to be drenched in molasses.

Death is not freedom. Death is suffering, and I now know how it feels to be dying. I've known for years how it feels to lose yourself—I lost the part of me that Flouran, if I ever had it in the first place, and now I lose the rest.

It's not a beautiful thing that leads to the bliss and silence I have so dreamed of for so many days. It _hurts_. I want to scream as I die. I want people to hear my voice one last time. I want to say something meaningful, something you could put on my gravestone to remember me by. I want to scream and cry and move and just do _something_ to save myself. I can hear the words of Warren, too far away to really understand, as I drift further and further away from existence.

In these final moments I have in Panem, I realize that I really, truly, do not want to die. It scares me to think that I will die. I will be dead and there is nothing I can do about it. I can't outrun death. I ran from my own identity and my own happiness for years when I was a little kid. I ran from those around me who feared me, hated me because I dared to be different. I ran from my own family because they, too, did not accept me when I needed them to. I've been running my whole life, and now it's finally caught up with me.

I thought the last few moments I was alive would be spent surrounded by family members as I died of old age, or perhaps some sort of sickness. Never like this. Never like this…this _pain_, that covers my whole body in a thick veil. There is no escape from this.

_Well, here I am! _I want to scream. I want to do _something_ in my final moments. _I'm dying! _I want to shout. _Don't forget me! _I want to cry. _Please! _I want to sob. I want to feeling something other than pain, immense otherworldly pain.

In a moment, I slide into the nothingness headfirst, and I know it is nothing like I imagined it would be.

_Mercy Mitsui, 16_

_District 6 Female_

The cannon shot is distant. I find myself wondering who it belonged to.

"Mercy, oh my god, oh my god, okay, okay, this is fine—" Warren rambles. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, kneeling on the ground and running his hands through his hair. His eyes are wide and his face is panicked. "Okay, okay, let's fix this, we can fix this, right?"

Warren moves forward. "This is going to hurt like hell," he says. "But can I pull the arrow out? We have bandages, we can bandage it up, there might be internal damage but at least you won't bleed out—"

"Don't bother," I mumble. "There's no point."

"W-what?" Warren splutters, looking at me as if I have just grown a unicorn horn and a third eye.

"…I'm not worth saving," I say softly, turning my head and looking out toward the smoky-filled sky. The ground beneath my back is still slightly damp. The air is cool, a comfortable temperature to die in… "Don't waste supplies on me…"

"Okay, you're clearly…delirious, you're not thinking straight," Warren says, taking deep, quick breaths.

"I'm thinking perfectly fine, thanks," I say curtly, shutting my eyes and allowing my head to loll back against the dirt. Warren jumps. "Woah, woah, don't have a heart…heart attack." I turn my head back toward him, leveling my eyes with his. "Please don't leave me."

Warren just gapes at me. "W-what?"

"Always have been slow on the uptake…" I mumble, looking at the sky as if this is the first time I've ever seen it. "You know…I used to dream about torturing you to death…"

"Okaaaay," Warren says slowly. "Great?"

"I don't want to anymore," I admit. "I guess you could…you could say I…_respect_ you. I do."

Warren lowers his head disbelievingly. "Are you sure you won't let me do something about the…that?" He gestures vaguely to the arrow sticking from my stomach, his eyes downcast.

"Don't bother…" I look back to the sky, looking at the clouds. Ha, that one looks like a knife… "You know, I always thought I'd…I'd die in a ditch somewhere…or I'd get shot in a gun fight and die before I even hit the floor…or maybe just get stabbed…or overdose…"

"You really won't let me touch the arrow?"

I ignore Warren and continue talking. I don't want to stop. I want him to know. I want everyone to know. There is an arrow sticking from my stomach. There is someone beside me who could save me. But Mercy Mitsui doesn't deserve to be saved. I've made so many people suffer. That man, I made Tabitha kill…Wheeler. He had two young daughters. And I didn't care. I didn't care about any of the men I cared. All I knew was that they were late, and thus, they deserved to die. I was so blind…so _sadistic_…and only when I face death in the face do I realize what I dealt upon those people. "I always knew I'd die alone. I'd be a mangled corpse found in an alleyway like Lori Harper…or buried under no one because I was completely unrecognizable like Dodge Meggins…" A small, thoughtful smile finds its way onto my face. You could call it an epiphany. But to me, it's just a mistake that I can never remedy…soon I'll be dead, and there is nothing I can do to apologize for everything I caused. There is some part of me, the part of me that is the most vocal, the part that controls everything, that tells me there is no need to apologize. I was only doing what was right. There is no need to apologize for doing what's right. And sure, that part of me is correct on that part. But there is a small, dormant part of me that tells me I still should feel bad.

Maybe, if only a little bit. Change can only happen so fast, after all. It's just a realization that I came upon too little, too late.

At least when I die, I'll know I knew how I lived was wrong…at least a little bit…

"Warren…" I say quietly. "Please stay. I don't…I don't want to die alone."

"I'm not leaving," Warren says, still looking at me as if I am some strange, alien creature. "I'm sorry, this is just…weird. Are you sure you're the same Mercy I volunteered to help?"

I laugh, a tiny little sound that I've never even heard before. "I guess you could say that Mercy choked on all the smoke."

"I'm totally lost."

"That's to be expected, from a dreamer like you," I say.

"That's the Mercy I know."

"Can you talk?" I request quietly. "About anything. Anything you've ever done. I don't care what it's about; just tell me something, and don't stop. I don't want to die in silence."

"You're not going to…" Warren trails off. "Mercy, you can't just die. That's not how it works. You've got to…to…to stay alive! Do you know what your father could do to me for this? What he could do to _Tabitha_? You have to care about her, even just a little bit…right? You can't do this to my family, Mercy. This is…this is a new level of sadism, even for you."

"_Sadism_?" I demand angrily. "You think I'm being _sadistic_? You think I'm trying to be _cruel_?"

"Well, yeah. It's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

I push myself up onto my elbows, ignoring the screaming of my torso. "Warren, _I don't deserve to be saved. _You're not even supposed to be here! You should be at home, protecting your family, not here, with me in this arena!"

"You know what, Mercy?" Warren says, leaning back on his knees. "I used to say I've never truly hated anyone, but I retract that statement. I _hate_ you, Mercy." I can't miss the tears in his eyes. They glisten and shine on those sky blue irises as his head moves, anger laced in his voice. He climbs to his feet, throwing our backpack over his shoulder.

And he walks away.

"NO!" I shout, struggling to sit up. "Warren! Please—" My voice cracks. "don't leave me here. I don't want to die alone." _Dying will do that to people, _my mother once said, when I asked her why so many late buyers cried when I held a gun to their head. _They fear it, try to run from it, and when it finally catches them, the emotion is too much for their little brains to handle. _

_I won't be like that, _I had said smugly, proudly. _I'll fight 'til the last second, and I'd never _cry_ over it. Do people really fear death?_

_Yes, of course they fear death, _my mother had answered. _Death scares many people. _

_Well, it doesn't scare me, _eleven-year-old Mercy Mitsui had said. _When I die, I'll die loud and proud. I'll go down kicking and screaming. No one will hear the end of me._

"Please," I repeat at Warren's retreating back. "Warren, please! I'm—I'm sorry, okay?" I push myself up onto all-fours, trying to stand. "Warren! Don't leave me here! P-please—!"

After a moment, Warren stops and turns around toward me. I force myself to my feet, using a nearby tree to stay that way. My stomach screams in pain, the arrow shifting through my body and ripping more things to shreds.

"You don't get to be sorry!" Warren shouts, more angry than I've ever heard him. "Do you know the things you've done, Mercy? The families you've ripped apart? The children you've left parent-less? Do you have any clue the amount of pain you've caused so many people? You don't just get to say sorry and move on. It's too late for you to apologize, even if I believed you weren't trying to manipulate me." He shakes his head and turns back around, his feet hitting the ground angrily.

I leave the tree behind, clutching one hand to the arrow in my stomach and using the other to reach out pointlessly for Warren. I stumble forward a few steps before promptly collapsing. Waves of black wash through my vision. "Warren…" I say, still reaching for him as my eyes flutter from open to close and back again. "Please…think…think of Tabitha…"

Warren stops and turns back around, panic, fear and realization written on his face as my head drops to the ground and I let my eyes close. The last thing I see is Warren running full speed toward me before everything goes black for the last time.

_Carter Sykes, 18_

_District 8 Male_

The first cannon isn't what woke me up. It is the second that makes me finally come to.

My head rests on an empty crate. I slowly lift it and look around, trying to figure out where I am. The sun beats down on me, the smell of smoke hanging in the air and dull pain hitting me from the direction of my leg.

I jump when I spot Arthur sitting a few feet away, looking like he was just hit by a truck and could really use a good cup of coffee, holding a sword in his left hand. He stares at the ground like it did him great personal wrong, his hand clenched tightly around the handle of his sword. After a few moments he looks up and squints into the sun.

He, too, jumps when he sees me awake. "Oh, hey. Welcome back." He drops his sword to the ground and slowly gets to his feet. He wobbles a little, stumbling. "Been a while since I…slept."

I don't say anything. I'm still trying to clear the fog from my mind and figure out where I am, why Arthur is here, why I can't really feel my leg, why I can smell so much smoke. I cough into my hand, trying to get a sound out of my parched, raspy throat. "W-what…what happ'ned?"

"Fire," Arthur says. "It's still burning." He points behind him, toward the trees across the river, and sure enough, smoke rises toward the sky and fire dances through the wood.

"Oh," I say, unsure of what else to I could have said. "Why am I here?"

"Same thing I've been asking myself for days," Arthur says, shaking his head. "Turns out I get really existential when I don't sleep for two days straight. I…really wish I had some coffee…" He suddenly shakes his head, raising it again and leveling his tired, wild eyes with mine. "What was I talking about?"

"Um…how long it's been since you slept?" I say, my voice hoarse. "Do you have...water?"

Arthur stumbles a few steps away and comes back with a half-full bottle of water. He throws it onto the ground in front of me, and I reach out to grab it. I take a small sip, unsure of how much water Arthur has stored up.

"You can finish that," Arthur says softly, leaning against the stacks of empty crates and sliding to the ground. His head lolls back against the plastic bins. "There's…always more down in the river…" He half-heartedly lifts his arm to point toward the river, and I bite back the urge to say _Yes, I do know where the river is. _

"So, um, why haven't you slept in two days?" I ask in between drinks.

Arthur has his eyes shut for so long I begin to think he has fallen asleep. His eyes suddenly snap open and he says, "Don't want you to die."

"…okay?"

"It's a real concern!" Arthur exclaims. "I mean, have you looked at your leg? I'm no doctor, and there's only so much I can do in the arena but…do you really think you're just going to walk it off or something?"

"Ah, well, no," I stammer, pushing myself into a better sitting position. "I just mean…in forty-eight hours, you haven't managed to sleep _at all_?"

"Well…I was asleep for around seventeen minutes," Arthur says, in a tone that suggests that is plenty of sleep. "And in those seventeen minutes, someone came by and stole one of the two knives we have left."

I choose to ignore his use of 'we'. "Oh. You could have woken me up."

"Yeah, I tried," Arthur answers, shaking his head bitterly. "You woke up once, muttering incoherently about someone called Aryanna and mentioned kitten kidnapping you? I was really wondering if you'd been drugged or something…" Arthur trails off, his head dropping sideways onto his left shoulder. It stays there for a moment he jumps and lifts it back up. "Uhm, anyways…uh, yeah, that didn't work."

"Arthur…don't you want to sleep?" I ask, cocking my head concernedly. "Being so sleep deprived in the Hunger Games certainly can't be good…"

"Yeah, well…" Arthur stares at the ground by his feet for a while, his eyes sort of glazing over. "Maybe I don't want to sleep. Maybe…maybe sleeping doesn't help."

"Doesn't help?" I repeat, confused. "What?"

"Doesn't make things better…" Arthur drops off again before he snaps to again. "Sleep doesn't fix things. And when I sleep I have to see it all over again…" He shivers, his shoulders heaving. "Sorry…I just…I can't…"

"Can't what?" I ask, shifting my position to get a better look at him.

When Arthur doesn't answer, I lean forward and prompt, "What can't you do, Arthur?"

"Heh, you sound like a therapist…" Arthur murmurs. He shakes his head slowly before he finally answers. "I can't sleep. Not without seeing everything I've done again…all the mistakes I've made…all the people who've died because of me…" Arthur shuts his eyes tightly, clearly blinking back tears. "I just don't want to see it again. I don't want to see Yama's headless body or Rylan screaming in the water or Adrian without his arm or all the bodies from the Bloodbath. I can't see it all over again, but I do, every night. Every time I go to sleep."

For a moment, I am silent, unsure of what to say. "It sounds like you've been through a lot."

"You have no idea…" Arthur agrees.

"You can sleep, you know," I say.

"I don't want to," Arthur says. He ducks his head, breathing hard. When he looks up, tears glisten on his cheeks. "I don't know what to do. I don't know anything anymore. Nothing makes sense. Everything feels like it's my fault even when I know it's not I still convince myself that it is—" He chokes back a sob, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "It's always my fault."

"No it's not," I say firmly. "It's not always your fault. "Let it be someone else's fault for once. Let someone take the blame. You don't always have to pin the blame on yourself. Someone else can take the fall."

"Are you sure you aren't a therapist?"

"Pretty damn sure," I say, nodding sharply. "Arthur…just, get some sleep. Please."

Arthur looks up, tears still running down his face. "I'll still have to relive it all."

"And that's not necessarily bad," I say. "The fact that you constantly relive it is because you're guilty—and there is nothing wrong with guilt where guilt is due."

"It's just because I'm traumatized," Arthur mutters. "It's not like it's ever going to change."

"That's not true," I say. "You live through this arena, and eventually, it will get better. The good days will outweigh the bad. You'll find a reason to live, a reason to piece together some sense of normalcy."

Arthur looks sort of confused before he shakily gets to his feet again. "I guess I'll…go to sleep now."

"I'll keep watch for you," I offer.

"Thanks." Arthur disappears into the Cornucopia, leaving me sitting alone in front of said Horn of Plenty, watching the smoky plains for any sight of movement.

**A/N: I'm actually pretty damn proud of this chapter. I feel like each POV was interesting, and not terrible for once! Hooray. **

**1\. Are you sad Flourish is dead?**

**2\. Are you sad Mercy is dead?**

**3\. What will become of Arthur and Carter's alliance?**

**4\. Six tributes left. Who will go next?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: I don't know. I'm tired. Okay um…what's your favorite Hunger Games quote?**

**My answer: 'remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me whenever you feel like it.'**

**ALLIANCES:**

_**And How Does That Make You Feel?: **_**Arthur (D4M), Carter (D8M)**

**Loners: Delta (D3F), Connor (D5M), Warren (D6M), Guadalupe (D2F)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**8****th**** Place – Flourish Jemsly (D9F). Stabbed in the stomach by Warren Oto (D6M). Submitted by 1MidnightWolf1. **

**Flourish! My girl! Man, you were one hell of a tribute. I always loved to write you, and I'm really going to miss doing it. You always spoke to me. You were one of those tributes who told me exactly what you were supposed to do, and you always had a clear voice. You sort of began to go off the deep end with your contemplations of suicide, but can you blame her? After learning of how Victors lived, she didn't want to live like that, and I certainly can't get mad at her for that. She was justified in it being scared, not wanting to die but not wanting to live as a Victor either. RIP. **

**7****th**** Place – Mercy Mitsui (D6F). Shot in the stomach with an arrow by Flourish Jemsly (D9F). Submitted by AlexFalTon. **

**Mercy is a perfect example of how to make a really good antagonist. She was my only late-game antagonist—the other being Hydra—which meant I had to keep her a while, but I was not complaining. I had so many plans for her, and I think they turned out just like I imagined it. Mercy sort of saw the error of her ways at the end here, not entirely giving up that mentality but sort of understanding what she did was wrong. Unfortunately it was too late for her to go back and fix everything, and Warren didn't even accept her apologies. Sometimes sorry just doesn't cut it, and Mercy is a wonderful example of that. RIP. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 1 (Rylan, Yama)**

**Warren: 1 (Fragrance, Flourish)**

**Mercy: 2 (Daniel, Shawn)**

**Flourish: 1 (Achilles, Mercy)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash, Adrian) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** – Rylan**

**DAY 6**

**13****th**** – Fragrance**

**12****th**** – Shawn**

**DAY 7**

**11****th**** – Yama**

**10****th**** – Adrian**

**DAY 8**

**9****th**** – Melissandre**

**DAY 9**

**None.**

**DAY 10**

**8****th**** – Flourish**

**7****th**** \- Mercy**

**-Amanda**


	39. Day 11 - This Is Real

_Delta Bishop, 15_

_District 3 Female_

I crouch by the river, gingerly putting the tip of my water bottle into the current. I hold it there until it fills up, letting the cool water wash over my hand.

When I pull it out, I lift my head and look around. I get the feeling I am being watched, and I don't like it. It's been so long since I've seen anyone, and I'm not ready to start it now. I don't mind the isolation, not anymore; being alone doesn't scare me.

Slowly, carefully, I rise to my feet as I slide the cap back onto my water bottle. I look around cautiously before I spot him, standing in the trees just a few feet away from me. The first tribute I see in the entire arena happens to be Warren Oto.

My first thought it to run, and I almost do. But there is a voice in my head that reminds that I don't run from my problems anymore. I will face them head on and deal with them when they come. I remain stationary, staring at Warren as if asking him if he's going to attack. He stares back, probably wondering the same thing.

I'm weaponless. Warren has a knife in his right hand, and un-loaded bow in his left hand. Maybe I should be afraid. But something tells me not to be. Maybe it's the cycle of the moon.

"Are you going to stand there and stare at more or are you actually going to attack me?" I ask, looking at him from the corner of my eyes.

"I'm taking the former route, thanks," he answers curtly. He fiddles with the knife in his hand, staring at the ground like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "…I didn't even remember you were still alive."

"Yes, well, I did tend to blend into the background," I say, bristling slightly.

The silence that follows is far too uncomfortable for my taste. I dig my heels into the muddy dirt behind me and say, "So…I saw your district partner in the sky last night."

Warren stares at the ground for a moment before he says, "I'm not sure how I feel about it."

"What, that I saw her in the sky?"

"No," Warren snaps. "That she's dead."

"Oh," I say, dropping my head. "That makes more sense." I shift my heels and cautiously stick my last purifying packet into my water bottle, watching Warren every step of the way. I don't trust him, and as long as he's standing there, I don't want to look away from him for a second. Having someone just…stand there makes me intensely nervous. After all, it has been eleven days since I've had normal human contact. Or any human contact. "So are you planning to just stand there until we all fade into oblivion or…?"

"I can leave, if me being here is bothering you," Warren offers, slowly tucking his knife into the pocket of his jacket. The bow remains in his hand, but I don't see any arrows.

"No, you don't have to leave. It's just…" I shake my head, scrutinizing my water bottle. "having you stand there is…weird."

"Oh." Warren looks up toward the sky, squinting into the sun. "What do you want me to do instead?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Anything but stand there."

Warren remains there for a moment, his feet planted in the ground as if they had grown roots, before he shakes his head and walks toward me. If he tries to attack me, I could hit him over the head with my water bottle…it's made of metal, that would hurt like a bitch and could give him a concussion…

But he doesn't attack. His knife remains in his pocket. His backpack remains slung over his shoulder. His posture isn't exactly relaxed, but he doesn't look poised to attack. He looks tired. There are circles under his eyes and his face has a sort of ghostly pallor, as if he is already dead.

After a few moments, he kneels down and snaps the bow in half. I stare at him like he's gone mad, but if he has no arrows, it is of no use to him. He continues to break it into little pieces, occasionally pausing to chuck them into the river. When he finishes, we both watch the remaining shreds disappear into the current

I carefully turn my head away from him, looking down the river toward the geyser and the burning forest. There have been no cannons today. There are six of us left. Six. Five people I have to kill to get home…and Warren is one of them. Could I club him over the head with my water bottle before he could counter attack? Could I knock him out with it and then slit his throat with his knife? Could I kill the first tribute I've seen? The first person I've had contact with since I bid Thalia goodbye, almost two weeks ago? Could I take this water bottle, slam it into Warren's skull, then end his life with his own weapon?

I don't get to find out. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement in the trees. I whirl around as the shadow lets an arrow fly—no, not an arrow. A bolt. From a crossbow. Someone has a crossbow. That someone is firing at us. "Look out!" I shout, everything seeming to slow around me.

The bolt flies through as if the air is replaced with molasses. Warren spins on his heels, looking at the figure in the trees with shock evident on his face in slow motion. I reach out with my arms as if I can catch the bolt and throw it back to the shadow in the trees, throwing myself into the bolt's path.

It hits me right into between the eyes, and I slip into the darkness, knowing death won't be anything like SALP promised me it would be.

_Guadalupe Dominguez, 18_

_District 2 Female_

In my head, Flourish shouts, _"Bullseye!"_ when the cannon fires and Delta falls backward in the river. In my head, Fragrance laughs and cheers, bragging about the power of our alliance. In my head, Marina tells all of us to shut up and just check the body. In my head, everything is normal. Everyone is here. Everyone is fine.

But of course, what's in my head is very, very far from reality. In reality, I'm all alone. In reality, Flourish, Fragrance and Marina are dead. In reality, I have no bolts left. In reality, I am facing down someone, armed and livid. In reality, I killed someone. In reality, I have become what I was so disgusted of Flourish and Fragrance for being.

I don't like my reality, but I can't change it. I have to face it. I have to fix it.

"Why would you do that?" Warren says, sounding genuinely confused and curious. His voice is tired. His face is tired. We're all tired. I'm tired. He's tired. We're tired of this arena. I'm tired of all of this. I never should have even volunteered, but I have to own up to those mistakes. I have to take charge for my life and fix things when it goes wrong. "Why would you just kill her?"

"It's the Hunger Games," I answer simply, unsure of whether I like it that I sound above all of this or not. "What else did you expect? You see a tribute, you kill them." _I sound so heartless. _

_Deal with it,_ another part of me says. And it's not wrong.

"…that doesn't mean you had to do it," Warren says, his eyes staring at me unwaveringly. It's rather unsettling.

"It's either she died or I did," I say, shrugging.

"That still doesn't justify just…killing her." He gestures half-heartedly to the bolt that sticks out of the bridge of Delta's nose. "You could have walked away. You could have turned around and dealt with it later…"

"I could have," I amend with a small nod in his direction. "But I didn't. And here we are."

_I could have not volunteered, but I did. I could have not joined the girls, but I did. I could have not run when the girl from 6 threw a knife at my back, but I did. I could have stayed home, I could have never volunteered, never even started training, yet here I am. And I need to own up for it. Sure, I made mistakes. I made mistakes that led to me standing here now after just killing someone, but is there anything I can do about that now? No. It's my problem to deal with, and my problem to fix. _

"You volunteered for this as well, you know," I say. "You could have, as you said, just walked away. What required you to volunteer? That's right; nothing. I could have stayed home, as could you—"

Warren clenches his fists in anger and growls, "You have no _fucking_ clue what you're talking about. You don't have even an _inkling_ of everything I've been through, of everything I'm trying to _protect_ by being here. If I hadn't volunteered, I would have _died_. And what would have happened if _you_ chickened out? Everyone would just glare at you and move on with their lives. But if _I_ didn't volunteer? I would have died. My sister would have died. My mother would have died. Everything I had worked for, suffered for, for years would have been destroyed. So, _no_, I couldn't have just not volunteered. I couldn't have just walked away."

For a split-second, I feel bad. I feel bad about getting it so wrong, but then anger takes back control and I snarl, "Do I look like I give a fuck about you or your problems? I'm the one here who's going to win. There are three people in their clearing and only one of us is going home—"

"Or none of us," Warren says in a low voice. "Both of us could be dead. Both of us could lose."

I scoff. "Oh, please. I'm a _Career_—"

"And now long has it been since a Career won the Games?" Warren asks angrily. "Five years?"

"How long has it been since 6 last won?" I shoot back.

"Two years," Warren answers through gritted teeth.

"My point exactly," I say, my words tight and clipped. "6 doesn't just _win_, don't you know? There was almost fifty years between the last two Victors. It's going to be another thirty years, at a minimum." I shake my head, anger burning in my eyes. "_Delta_ has a better chance at winning than you do, and she's _dead_."

Warren stares at me, almost disbelievingly, for a few moments. And then the next thing I know a knife is flying through the air and slamming into my chest.

The impact sends me toppling over backwards. My head hits hard against the trunk of a tree behind me, making black filter through my vision. Or maybe that's the just the knife in my chest.

With sheer refusal to die and spite alone, I reach for my crossbow with shaking limbs and hurl it at Warren. I see it land grossly undershot a few feet away from Delta's legs with a small, distant _plunk_. In a last ditch effort to make some sort of mark on my enemy, I grit my teeth and tear the knife from my chest, wasting no time or energy on the pain. It wobbles through the air, my limbs lacking power and flops to the ground. I slump sideways as blood pulses from the newly-carved cavity in my chest, and I can feel my consciousness fading.

Warren retreats down the river, but I hardly even notice it as he flees the scene. My mouth hangs open, as if I'm shocked by this turn of events, and maybe I am. Everything feels too distant to be shocked about it…my head droops against my shoulder, and then comes the black.

_Connor Merlyn, 18_

_District 5 Male_

My stomach feels like it's trying to eat itself.

Three days, it's been since I've eaten anything substantial. A sponsor sent me a packet of crackers yesterday afternoon, but I ate through those already. Now my stomach screams for sustenance, of any kind, and I have none to give it. The lack of nourishment makes me feel light-headed, like I'm about to pass out and throw up at the same time. Not that there is anything _to_ throw up, aside from bile and stomach acids.

The only thing that keeps me going to thought of Sabrina waiting for me back home. I imagine her, Felix and Lucas crowded around a T.V. screen, or perhaps in the square surrounded by comforting faces, and it makes me keep going. It makes me get back up each time, and keep searching for food.

It's slow going. I know I'm vulnerable in this position, but there isn't much I can do about it. I find myself wishing I had spent more time at the Edible Plants station during Training—I'd eat just about anything at this point, but I'd prefer to avoid poisonous if possible.

I passed by the Cornucopia earlier—I don't think either Carter or Arthur spotted me, but I hightailed it out of there pretty quick—and I considered just stumbling in there and asking for food. I trust Carter. I don't think he would try to poison me. But I know next to nothing about Arthur. I know his name. I know how old he is. I know what district he comes from, and from there, all bets are off. For all I know, he could secretly be a zombie or something crazy like that.

So I avoided the Cornucopia. I didn't want either of them to react violently and kill me before I had the chance to state my business.

And now here I am, walking as steadily as I can across the large, black-top parking lot. It's weird to see a parking lot without any cars in it—not that there are a lot of parking lots, or cars, for that matter, in 5. Cars are pretty much exclusively reserved for Capitol visitors or important people like the mayor or the Head Peacekeeper. My father is one of the richest people in all of 5, and _he_ doesn't even own a car. I guess there's just not much use for one. Although I wouldn't put it past my father it buy a car just to flaunt his wealth. He has a thing for overly ostentatious and expensive items.

It feels slightly odd to walk on something so solid and unmovable after all the hollow ground that fills the arena. It's a miracle none of it has truly collapsed yet, although I did see a few holes across the river by the fire.

The fire.

How could I forget the fire? The fire I started. There was a cannon shot shortly after I dropped those matches, and I'm certain that death was because of me. Maybe Melissandre got trapped. Maybe she died from smoke inhalation. Maybe she got burnt to death. Who knows? It won't be me, unless I get out of here alive and see the recap. And to do that, I'll need food.

When I look up from my feet, my eyes lock on the strange creature in the middle of the parking lot. It's large, brown and furry. It certainly doesn't look very fast. The only intimidating part is the big horns, and the fact that it probably weighs more than I did Pre-Arena. It looks rather bored, idly scrapping at the blacktop with one of its hooves and staring off into space.

I tentatively approach it, wishing I had something I could use to bring it down. A sword or an ax, maybe. Either would work. If I had knives, I could throw a couple at it, but all of my supplies were burnt to ash. But I have nothing; no weapons, no sharp objects, not even a slightly-pointy rock I could hurl at its head.

The creature looks up from its idle clawing and stares at me for a good thirty seconds before I start moving again. It feels like its eyes are boring into my soul. I decide to give it a wide berth.

I don't know what was wrong with this creature on this afternoon; maybe it woke up on the wrong side of the grass, didn't have what it wanted for breakfast, got in an argument with its father…but this thing gets very pissed, very quickly.

One second, I'm just calmly stumbling past the animal, and the next it's charging full-speed over the blacktop and heading right toward me. I don't have any time to react before its enormous furry head slams into my body, its horns digging into my stomach. The impact sends me flying the air before I finally slam to a stop on the dirt.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO! I can't die like this! I can't die at all! I have to get home, I have to go home to Sabrina and Felix and Lucas and everyone waiting! I can't die here! I have to fight, and win, and get home to Sabrina!

I have to know what she said…I have to know if she said yes…I have to know. I can't die not knowing. I stare up at the sky, feeling elevated out of my own body. "Did you…did you…say yes?"

**A/N: Day 12 will be the finale. With any luck, we'll see it tonight. And then I can post the Bloodiest Place on Earth. Woot, woot!**

**ALSO if you got two notifications for this it's because I deleted it and reposted it because I forgot to write Connor's eulogy in…**

**1\. Should Delta have killed Warren?**

**2\. Did Guadalupe lose herself in the end?**

**3\. Would Connor have known to avoid the buffalo if he had been thinking clearly?**

**4\. It's Yellowstone Park. Every other day there's some idiot out there getting killed by a buffalo because they disregarded all the signs. Did you expect it not to happen where there are no signs and no one knows what a buffalo is?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: we are down to the Final Three. Who do you think will win?**

**ALLIANCES:**

_**And How Does That Make You Feel?: **_**Arthur (D4M), Carter (D8M)**

**Loners: Warren (D6M)**

**THE FALLEN:**

**6****th**** Place – Delta Bishop (D3F). Shot between the eyes with a crossbow by Guadalupe Dominguez (D2F). Submitted by DefoNotAFangirl. **

**Oh, Delta. Such an innocent soul who became so not innocent in the end. She started out not caring that her ways could be wrong and refusing to change, but eventually got tired of feeling wrong. She wanted to believe what she wanted to believe. She started out wanting answers but moved past that, no longer caring for what others said. She wanted to die on her own terms, but Guadalupe vetoed that. At least she didn't die alone and was avenged. RIP. **

**5****th**** Place – Guadalupe Dominguez (D2F). Stabbed in the chest by Warren Oto (D6M). Submitted by Lord Shiro. **

**Guadalupe started out as my Victor. Very early on, before I had half my tributes, I aimed for Guadalupe to win. She wrote for herself in the beginning, but as soon as I tried to write her outside of the Reapings, everything fell apart. I moved on to other plans. I felt like I didn't know what I wanted from her anymore. I was unsure of where she fit in my cast of tributes, and I just ran out of places to go with her. Honestly, she only got this far because I needed to have at least one true Career in the Final Eight (no offense Arthur, but you're no Wake) and I didn't know who I could replace her. Her arc was all over the place, mainly because I didn't know where I was going with her. The biggest shock is people still liked her after everything I did. RIP. **

**4****th**** Place – Connor Merlyn (D5M). Gored by a buffalo mutt. Submitted by Sparky She-Demon. **

**Connor had a lot going for him, but I could never picture him as a Victor. I felt like him winning was too much of a happy ending. He goes home, lives out the rest of his days with Sabrina and never speaks to his father again. Yay! Happy ending! In case you haven't noticed yet, I don't give my Victors conventional happy endings. They'll find a way to be happy, but not how they expected to. And if Connor won, then that couldn't happen. Also because hardly anyone was rooting for him anymore. RIP. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Guadalupe: 1 (Delta)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 1 (Rylan, Yama)**

**Warren: 3 (Fragrance, Flourish, Guadalupe)**

**Mercy: 2 (Daniel, Shawn)**

**Flourish: 1 (Achilles, Mercy)**

**Yama: 1 (Clash, Adrian) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** – Rylan**

**DAY 6**

**13****th**** – Fragrance**

**12****th**** – Shawn**

**DAY 7**

**11****th**** – Yama**

**10****th**** – Adrian**

**DAY 8**

**9****th**** – Melissandre**

**DAY 9**

**None.**

**DAY 10**

**8****th**** – Flourish**

**7****th**** – Mercy**

**DAY 11**

**6****th**** – Delta**

**5****th**** – Guadalupe**

**4****th**** \- Connor**

**-Amanda**


	40. Day 12 - And Then There Was One

_Warren Oto, 18_

_District 6 Male_

The fire is what wakes me.

Or more of, the smell of smoke.

It slams into my nostrils all at once, jolting me awake. I look around blearily, wondering how it got so dark so fast. Wasn't it dawn just a few hours ago?

The finale. The end. The end of the Games.

Three of us. Two people I have to kill. Two people that stand in between me and Victory. Two people that stand in between me and Tabitha. I _will_ get back to District 6. I _will_ explain everything to her. I'll never live with myself if I don't.

Oh, wait. I wouldn't have to. I'd be dead.

I sit up and organize my things. I look down at my backpack, wondering if it's worth it to bring an empty backpack to a knife fight. It's not heavy. If I throw it, all it will do will be flop to the ground. It's useless. I decide to leave it there and just take my knife.

Fire screams in the distance as I start to walk, wondering where exactly it's herding me. Presumably back to the Cornucopia, where I believe Arthur should be. Who's the other one left? I know it's Arthur, me and…Carter! Carter. From 8. I realize with a jolt that I'm the only volunteer left. Huh. Who would have guessed? Certainly not me—I expected to be facing down Guadalupe, Adrian and Marina or something. Definitely not the archer and the…whatever Carter is. A guy who likes swords? Does he like swords? I'll admit I never paid much attention to him during the Pre-Games, and now I'm kicking myself.

That knowledge of Carter could save my life. And I don't have it.

All I know about Arthur is that he's an archer and didn't volunteer. That's also not much to go off of, since I destroyed the only bow in the arena yesterday. I doubt he's very good with melee-weapons, but who knows? After all, the only weapons I've ever fought with are knives and guns, but I still can hold my own with a sword. Maybe Arthur is the same way. I guess I'll just have to find out the hard way, since I didn't bother to pay attention during training. I was too busy babysitting Mercy to deal with the other tributes. And now I'm paying for it. Or will pay for it, depending on what the answers turn out to be. But not knowing could literally be the death of me.

_Carter Sykes, 18_

_District 8 Male_

I wake in the morning to Arthur shaking me. "W-what?" I mumble groggily. I sit up with effort, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"It's morning," Arthur says seriously.

"Okay, and?"

He sighs and points to the sky. It's darkening already. But it was just a few hours ago I woke Arthur up to switch watch…right? It hasn't been that long. It can't have been. I would have woken up from pain in my leg if it had been that long. "You think it's because of the finale…?" I ask uncertainly, hoping he'll answer no.

"Yeah, probably," Arthur says, climbing to his feet and grabbing his sword. It looks weird in his hands. "We should move. Like, now."

"Why?" I ask, struggling to sit up straight.

"There's fire over there too," Arthur answers, pointing off toward the parking lot and buildings. "They're trying to drive us together. We need to go." I can see the flames dancing in the trees, licking at the wooden buildings and screaming through the parking lot. Arthur is right. We can't stay here. Before long, this entire area will be engulfed in fire. I start to push myself to my feet when the dizzying stab of pain hits me.

My leg. The burn. I can't run. I can hardly walk.

"Arthur," I say urgently. "I can't walk. I—I can't leave. I'll only slow you down."

Arthur gapes at me. "I don't give a fuck if you slow me down. I'm not going to leave you here. I'll never hear the end of it…" He trails off, staring off into space for a moment before he snaps back to reality. "Alright. Come on."

The smell of smoke hits my nose as Arthur slings my arm over his shoulder and pulls me to my feet. He slides his sword into one of the loops on his belt and hands me the last knife in the Cornucopia. It very well could be the last knife in the arena. I shove it into my pocket, and together we limp away from the Cornucopia.

Flames follow quickly in our wake, easily engulfing the buildings behind us and reaching the Cornucopia in minutes. As we limp along, I find myself wondering where the third tribute is…who is it? It's the guy from 6, right? Warren. That's his name.

Smoke hangs thick in the air. Fire screams in our ears as we shuffle toward the boardwalk. The geyser starts to erupt as the wind picks up and the sky darkens further. I lift my head and look around at the arena, remembering what it looked like on the first day. There was no fire. There was no burn on my leg. There was twenty-four tributes, each with hope for Victory, and now there are just three.

I clench my free hand into a fist. _I'm coming home, Mom. I'm coming home, Aryanna. _I just hope Arthur dies before Warren does. Just like I couldn't kill Connor, I can't kill Arthur. He's done so much for me, and I can't return the favor by ending his life.

My teeth clench at the thought of Connor. _Stop thinking about him. Once you win, there will be years for you to deal with how you felt about him. _

Warren arrives as Arthur and I are halfway across the boardwalk. He comes running out of the trees to my right, a few mild-looking burns peppering his arms and face. He holds nothing but a knife.

The Cornucopia has been engulfed in fire. Flames lick at us from all sides, staying just a few inches from the boardwalk.

The beginning of the fight is very abrupt; one moment, we're all standing here, staring at each other, and the next, Arthur has let go of my hand and brought his sword up to clash with Warren's knife. The sharp _chiinnnnk_ sound that follows when their blades hit each other grates on my ears. I use to a nearby bench to push myself to my feet, intent on joining this fight. Of course, I could always just crawl away and hope Arthur and Warren will kill each other but…

I fumble with the knife in my pocket and stagger toward Arthur and Warren as Arthur attempts to run Warren through. Warren throws himself backward, out of the path of Arthur's blade and lifts his blade.

Arthur brings up his sword to block the attack but misses Warren's strike. I swallow hard and slam my shoulder into Arthur's, sending him sprawling onto the boardwalk.

The knife hits his left hand, cutting all the way through so the tip peeks out his palm. Arthur screams, a horrible, guttural scream and recoils.

Warren yanks the knife backward, cutting through Arthur's hand further without second thought and rounds on me.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_District 4 Male_

Pain. White hot pain that screams and cries and hollers at me, creating a horrible cacophony in my skull. I drop my sword and use my uninjured hand—my non-dominant one, I might add—to drag myself body away from Carter and Warren. The sounds of their fight drifts toward my ears as black spasms through my vision. I wake up a moment later splayed out on the boardwalk, feeling bile rise in my throat.

I pull myself over to a nearby bench, trying to force myself into some sort of defensive position. Everything blurs as I move, acutely aware of everything going on around me without being able to see it. Warren and Carter continue fighting a few feet away from me, dagger on dagger, fists on fists, ignoring me.

They must think I'm as good as dead. Maybe they think I already am, and they just missed the cannon.

_Well, you practically are. I imagine we'll be hearing your cannon shot any moment now. _

I wince and shut my eyes for a moment. _Come on, Arthur. Just get to your feet. _Carter_ is standing up and fighting, and his _leg_ is covered in _burns_. All that's wrong with you is your hand looks like it's being dissected. Get up. Fight. Win. You can do this. You can still get home. You have to, remember? You can't die here. Sala isn't ready to see you yet. _

Using the bench as a support, I force myself to my feet and stagger toward my sword. In my mind, I try to outline every movement I have to make to get through this. Grab your sword. Stumble toward the fight. Rejoin said fight. Let Warren kill Carter…Kill Warren. Win. Simple. Easy. Piece of cake.

Unfortunately, there is nothing easy about winning the Hunger Games. Also unfortunately is that I have no other choice; I refuse to die like this. It's sheer spite that's keeping me going right now; sheer spite against that stupid voice in my head. _I'm right about you, you know. You can't win the Hunger Games if you can't even protect your own allies. _

_Shut the fuck up_.

_Warren Oto, 18_

_District 6 Male_

_Schikkkk!_ The sound grates on my ears for perhaps the hundredth time as the blade of my dagger slams into Carter's again. And again. And again. I grit my teeth, blinking water out of my eyes. The smoke lays thick over us, darkening the sky as it lights up orange for the fire.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Arthur painstakingly hefting his sword with his non-injured hand. I whirl around to counter his attack, stepping backward to avoid Carter's knife. It's two on one, hardly fair, but I'm used to playing dirty. I slam my elbow into Carter's gut, sending him toppling backward. I take my dagger and desperately stab it into Carter's neck, looking over my shoulder for Arthur.

Finally I see he has abandoned his sword and staggered a few feet away. I waste no time taking back my dagger from Carter's neck as the second to last cannon sounds in the arena and take off in pursuit.

The smoke makes my mind foggy and my lungs burn, but it's not as thick as it was that day with Mercy. I won't be collapsing from smoke inhalation today. At least not yet. And I won't be here long enough for it to be a concern. I'll be dead or out of here in a matter of minutes. Either Arthur bleeds out or he kills me. There are only two options here, and the latter won't be happening any time soon.

As I chase Arthur across the hollow ground, steadily gaining on him through the haze, I imagine Tabitha at home. She's watching me now, I can feel it. She's cheering for me. "I'm coming, Tabitha," I mutter. "Just wait a little bit longer."

My eyes lock onto Arthur's back, and I banish thoughts of Tabitha, of District 6, of anything but killing him and getting home from my mind. I launch myself off my feet and tackle Arthur, suddenly sending both of us tumbling down a hill. We splash into a river, sending a jolt through my system.

Arthur's face goes pale but he doesn't stop fighting. Still, I manage to pin him after a moment, feeling water rush over my legs as I press my knees against Arthur's elbows.

Only at this moment do I realize I have no weapon. I stupidly left my knife in Carter's throat. I don't even have anything sharp. I should have kept my backpack. At least I could have used it to suffocate him.

I still have hands. I can strangle him. I don't want to, but it's either that or I let him kill him. I glance up at the sky for a moment and mouth, _I'll be there soon, Tab. Hang on a little longer for me, okay?_

I sigh and clamp my hands around Arthur's neck. Arthur writhes, kicking his legs and splashing my back with water. He coughs up blood onto my face. "Ack," I say, shaking my head and sending a few droplets of his blood flying into the water.

Arthur throws his weight to the left, throwing me off of him as I realize my mistake a second too late. I'm vaguely aware of fire racing down the side of the hills on either side of the river, making me feel like my brain is about to boil, as if it's a hotdog someone is microwaving until it explodes.

Arthur puts his shoulder on my chest, stopping me from sitting up. I try to get my hands back around his neck, but his head is moving too much and my vision blurs too much. Smoke drifts between us, making Arthur look like a ghost, come to drag me into oblivion.

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_District 4 Male_

I stare at Warren's pale face for a moment, replacing my elbow with one of my knees. His arms continue to move but I ignore them, dodging his hands as I reach for a rock. My hand closes around a nicely shaped one on the bottom of the river and I rip it from its dirt cocoon. One of the edges is sharp and pointed, the other side smooth and rounded. It's a pretty rock; the kind Sala and I would have taken to our parents when we were toddlers to add to the collection on the windowsill. I shake my head, trying to clear the memories from my head, and poise the rock over Warren's head. My eyes dart between the rock and Warren's face for a moment.

"No—!" Warren screams as realization dawns on his face, but he's too late. I'm going to win this. I clamp my eyes shut for a millisecond, opening them quick enough that one could think I had just been blinking.

I swallow hard before I slam the rock into Warren's forehead. Warren cries out in pain, desperately trying to crawl away, to get away and escape. I don't think as I hit him again. This time the rock comes away wet with blood.

I shut my eyes and slam his head again. And again. And again. I peek my eyes open and gag at the sight of Warren's forehead; it's become a bloody expanse of jagged incisions and indents, covering his whole face in sickly red liquid. It drips down his cheeks, clings to his hair, leaks slowly from his landscape of a forehead.

The rock hits the water, turning it red as my grips goes slack. Warren groans, his eyes half open. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh…my god.

I…I _did_ that.

Swallowing back bile and my meager dinner which seems eager to make a reappearance, I grab another rock and bite my tongue. Warren groans again. I gag and drop the rock again. It lands with a _splash _and a _plunk_ in the water, resettling at the bottom. Warren reaches out with his hands lethargically, his mouth moving like he's talking, but no sounds come out. Or maybe he's talking and I just can't hear him over the buzzing in my ears.

_Ugh. Just kill him already and get it over with, you pathetic creature. _

I swallow again, watching a droplet of blood make its way down Warren's face to pool by his mouth. I can't look at this anymore. I can't do this anymore. Just end it. Get it over with. Please. I can't do this anymore.

The water still red around us, from both my hand, the rock and Warren's forehead, I lunge for another rock and slam it into Warren's forehead. I keep slamming it against his head until there is a cannon shot.

_BOOM! _

I throw the rock as I far as I can as if it suddenly started to burn. It plunks down in the water a good ten feet away from me, making the water red there as well.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT TO YOU, THE VICTOR OF THE 151ST ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES, ARTHUR SINGLEWAVE OF DISTICT 4!"

I flop back in the river, letting the water wash over me. Maybe I'll drown, like Sala, and I can go home. I want to go home. But home isn't going to be the same, not anymore…I want to go back to the way it was before Sala and Mom died…back to before Jackly, Elva and I abandoned Faustus…I just want everything to go back to the way it was.

But I know it never will.

The hovercraft appears from nowhere and a woman with bright red hair drops down. I turn my head, not wanting to look at her head. Oh fuck, it looks like Warren it looks like Warren's forehead and all the blood and I did that I killed Warren fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

She gently brings me into the hovercraft. Doctors rush around us, but all the sound is kind of distant. They lay me down on a bed, and the next thing I know, Chance and Alec are looking down at me, their mouths moving. Little snippets of what they say reach me, but most of it completely unintelligible. Finally one little piece hits me fully.

"You did it, Arthur," Chance says, slinging his arm over Alec's shoulder. They both look absolutely exhausted. "Our first one."

I did do it. I did win. It's what I wanted. I wanted to win. But not like this. Maybe I would have been better off dead.

**A/N: Woot, woot! Victor time!**

**1\. Did you like Carter?**

**2\. Did you like Warren?**

**3\. Do you still like Arthur? (I hope so)**

**4\. Are you happy with Arthur as the Victor?**

**Random Question of the Chapter: did you ever think Arthur would win?**

**My answer: well, not exactly. It's a long story. **

**ALLIANCES:**

**N/A**

**THE FALLEN:**

**3****rd**** Place – Carter Sykes (D8M). Stabbed in the throat by Warren Oto (D6M). Submitted by Team Shadow. **

**Oh, Carter! Gosh, you were so…pure, I guess? Certainly not innocent or naïve, but still so wholesome. You will always hold a special place in my heart as the one-sided Star Crossed Lover, haha. I did, unfortunately, never really considered you as a Victor, though. I loved you, and wanted to write you as long as possible, but there were always better possibilities. People were always cheering for someone else. I never felt like you were what I was looking for in my Victor, but third certainly isn't bad. I will always miss you writing someone as nice and extroverted as you. Extroverts really aren't common in SYOTs, especially not from outliers, so you were refreshing. I wish I could have explored your relationship with Connor more, but I guess I sort of glossed over it in favor of alliances I found more interesting and my readers enjoyed more. RIP.**

**2****nd**** Place – Warren Oto (D6M). Head bludgeoned in by Arthur Singlewave (D4M). Submitted by AlexFalTon. **

**Ah, second place. The 'you tried' prize. I always feel bad for whoever ends up with second place, but someone has to, and this time, it was Warren. For most of this story, Warren won. I changed my mind around the time of the goodbyes, and I don't even have a reason for it. I just went one day, 'hey, so, Warren wins. But what if…he didn't?'. Warren was a tribute I loved to the moon and back. He wrote for himself the whole way through. My one justification as for why I didn't want him to win anymore was because I felt like it would be too much of a happy ending. I could have killed Tabitha or something, but I really didn't want to do that. Still, Warren was an absolutely fantastic tribute. His dynamic with Mercy was fun to explore, and he was easy to develop. It felt like there were so many places to go with Warren's character, and while I'm sad I don't get to go down some of those paths, I can no longer see Warren as a Victor. RIP. **

**1****st**** Place (The Victor) – Arthur Singlewave (D4M). No death. Submitted by Guesttwelve. **

**Arthur! Man, I never thought Arthur would end up as my Victor. For the longest time, he was in second place, but I changed my mind in favor of him, and here we are. I always looked forward to writing Arthur. I had so many plans for his arc, and I enjoyed bringing him to his lowest. Somehow, he's got to claw his way out of this hole of trauma and self-loathing he has dug himself, but now he has forever to do it. I'm extremely excited to add Arthur to my hall of Victors, and I'm so happy I get to keep writing him forever. Welcome to the Mentors Club, Arthur and Guesttwelve. **

**KILL COUNT:**

**Fragrance: 1 (Monk)**

**Guadalupe: 1 (Delta)**

**Adrian: 1 (Vanye)**

**Marina: 1 (Joaquin)**

**Arthur: 3 (Rylan, Yama, Warren)**

**Warren: 4 (Fragrance, Flourish, Guadalupe, Carter)**

**Mercy: 2 (Daniel, Shawn)**

**Flourish: 2 (Achilles, Mercy)**

**Yama: 2 (Clash, Adrian) **

**DEATH LIST:**

**DAY 1**

**24****th**** – Hydra**

**23****rd**** – Fulmina**

**22****nd**** – Vanye**

**21****st**** – Daniel **

**20****th**** – Monk**

**19****th**** – Joaquin**

**DAY 2**

**None. **

**DAY 3**

**18****th**** – Jayanne**

**17****th**** – Clash**

**DAY 4**

**16****th**** – Marina**

**DAY 5**

**15****th**** – Achilles**

**14****th**** – Rylan**

**DAY 6**

**13****th**** – Fragrance**

**12****th**** – Shawn**

**DAY 7**

**11****th**** – Yama**

**10****th**** – Adrian**

**DAY 8**

**9****th**** – Melissandre**

**DAY 9**

**None.**

**DAY 10**

**8****th**** – Flourish**

**7****th**** – Mercy**

**DAY 11**

**6****th**** – Delta**

**5****th**** – Guadalupe**

**4****th**** – Connor**

**DAY 12**

**3****rd**** – Carter**

**2****nd**** – Warren**

**1****st**** – Arthur**

**-Amanda**


	41. Epilogue 1 - Fine

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_Victor of the 151__st__ Annual Hunger Games_

I drift in and out of conscious for what could have been a few minutes and what could have been weeks. I never feel awake enough to move, or even open my eyes, but I figure at some point I will be forced to. At some point the world will resume around me and I will have to get up.

It's still difficult to believe. It's difficult to believe that I won't wake up, passed out at the Cornucopia with Carter sitting taking watching beside me. Every time I fall back into unconsciousness, that's what I expect to see. Or maybe I expect to find nothing, to discover that this is some bizarre, underwhelming afterlife. But this can't be what death feels like. There is too much pain, too much a haze over my mind that can only come from painkillers. At least with drugs in my system, I don't have to think. It makes all the insulting voices in my head sleep.

My body finally decides it's high time it emerges from its cocoon, much to my dismay. I would stay asleep forever if I could.

I blink a few times, squinting at the stark white ceiling above my head. The lights aren't on, which gives me the idea that it's probably the middle of the night. I cautiously prop myself up on my elbows, glancing around the room.

It isn't anything special; the walls are barren and windowless. There's an I.V. to my left, which feeds into my wrist. Across the room stands a table and a single chair, which Chance currently occupies, leaning over the table, asleep. I shift underneath the blankets, pleased that they are at least a lovely quality. For a Victor's hospital room, I'll admit this is not what I expected.

I lower my eyes and stare at my lap for a few moments. It's not that I expect, or care about receiving special treatment. While I'd prefer to not be kicked to the curb after killing a bunch of people to sit here, I don't want to be treated differently. I'd rather not be looked at like I'm about to explode at any moment. I don't plan on spontaneously combusting anytime soon, and I don't want anyone to expect that. I don't want things to be any different, but even I can't deny that nothing will ever be the same. Home will never be the same. Hanging out with Jackly and Elva will never be the same. Going out on a boat with Dad will never be the same. _I_ will never be the same.

The soft _twirrrr_ sound that comes from my right hand alerts me to the difference. I nervously pull it out from underneath the blankets and stare at it as if I've never seen it before.

Maybe that's because I haven't.

I wouldn't be the first Victor to lose a limb. Chance has several prosthetic fingers. Hell, Macy Barker lost an entire _leg_! And after having my hand run through, I suppose it isn't a surprise that it was impossible to save. It's just a bit of shock to my system, that's all.

I flex my fingers, marveling at the little whirring sound that comes from my hand when I clench it into a fist. It's certainly a state-of-the-art prosthetic; not that I'm an expert on prosthetics but—

_I wouldn't say you're an expert on anything. You couldn't even die right. You know it should be Warren or Carter sitting in this bed, stunned at their prosthetic hand instead of you. You know they deserved Victory so, so much more than you ever did. _

Chance chooses this exact moment to suddenly jerk awake. "What?" he exclaims, looking around with wild eyes. "Arthur! You're awake!" He's on his feet in an instant, walking quickly to my side. "I see you've found your hand." I notice the prosthetic fingers on his right hand twitch and he lifts his wrist, pointing to said fingers. "Now I'm not alone being the only District 4 Victor with prosthetics!"

He grins like that's a good thing. He grins like it's okay to be missing limbs and having them replaced. He grins like we didn't both kill people so we could stand here, showing each our fake body parts. He grins like we don't both have blood on our hands. Like everything is okay, like everything will go back to normal, like I don't feel half insane and like I don't deserve to sit here over someone like Warren Oto—

"It's around five a.m.," Chance declares. "I imagine they'll plan the interview and recap for this afternoon. I would recommend you get some more sleep, you'll probably need it—"

I don't catch the rest. I swallow hard and my breathing turns ragged at the thought of the Recap. I'll have to watch myself kill people. I'll have to be reminded of the terrible things I did to be here right now. I'll have to wonder if it was at all worth it, if it will ever be worth it. Somehow I highly doubt my life will ever be the worth the price of others.

…

As I stand just off stage, waiting for my cue, I can't help but be reminded of Interview Night. How was it only two weeks ago? So much has changed since then. So much has happened. So many people have died. So many of those people I myself killed, and now I have to watch it all happen again. It will be a miracle if I get through all of this without breaking down sobbing.

Would Warren or Carter fare any better than I will? Would Yama, would Adrian, would Marina? I'll never know. I'm the only left, and I have to learn to live with it.

Alistair announces my name and welcomes me onto the stage. I take a deep breath before I step into the lights, looking out upon the cheering crowds of Capitolites.

I take the seat Alistair offers me. A throne. A literal-fucking-throne. As if the money and house wasn't enough…

With the deafening applause still filling the auditorium, President Purdue (is that what I'm supposed to call her? She's been in office for like two weeks. Is she even actually the President yet?) comes out on stage carrying a crown.

My breath catches in my chest when my eyes land on the crown. It's woven from feathers…

_Eagle_ feathers.

_Yama's _eagle feathers.

Fuck.

I stare at it with my shoulders trembling slightly until Graciela stands directly in front of me. She places the crown on my head, smiling sincerely. "Congratulations, Arthur." She levels her eyes with mine. I stare back at her with wild, panicked eyes. When she catches sight of my expression, she whispers, "Their idea, not mine."

I don't know who 'they' are, but it is at least slightly comforting to know this is not Purdue's idea. She's not trying to torture me. That's more than Snow could say, from what I've heard.

Alistair says something which sends me hurdling back to reality. "What?" I say, leaning forward slightly.

Alistair chuckles good-naturedly and says, "What I said was: it's good to see you again, Arthur."

"Oh, um, it's…it's good to see you too," I stammer, ducking my head for a moment. _Can't even talk like a normal human being, how'd he ever win the Hunger Games? _

"You know, I was rooting for you before the Games began," Alistair says. I highly doubt that. I'm sure no one outside of the small group of people I know on a first-name basis back home were rooting for me. But I bite my tongue and allow him to go on. "You just had that look of a Victor. That glint in your eyes, telling us you were someone to watch out for. And the three kills to your name prove that!"

"Y-yes," I say, blinking. _Three kills. Rylan. Yama. Warren. _"I didn't even have a bow."_ Three lives you ended. Rylan. Yama. Warren. _

"I hear you were quite dangerous with one of those," Alistair agrees, nodding slowly.

I look down for a moment before I lift my head and nod. I never want to touch a bow again, and I used to love using them. Just to fire an arrow and get a bullseye…it used to be so satisfying. But now, if I ever see another bow, it will be too soon. Any kind of weapon, actually. Swords, knives, crossbows, rocks, rivers…unfortunately avoiding those things will be much easier said than done. "I could get bullseyes without even looking."

"It is truly unfortunate the girl from District 9 got away with the only one in the arena, wasn't it?"

_Her name was Flourish_, I want to snap. But once again, I simply bite my tongue and nod. It _was_ pretty unfortunate, actually. If I could have just shot people from a tree…well, I wouldn't see them die, and there would be next to no blood. It would be cleaner, less traumatizing than cutting someone's head right off their neck.

"Well, I'm sure we're all on the edge of our seats waiting for the Recap!" Alistair says, more to the crowd than to me. Maybe he knows I don't want to watch the Recap. Maybe he knows I'll probably start crying. Maybe he knows. He's been doing this for ages, after all. "Let's get right to it, shall we?"

Without further conversation, the screen behind us lights up. It shows flashes of tributes' faces, lingering on mine longer than it needs to. I don't care what I looked like. I don't care what I was before I killed people. That Arthur is dead. He died with Rylan.

But in the silence of the countdown, a strange feeling of nostalgia wells in my chest. This was before any of us were dead. We were all alive and well, at least for the next thirty seconds. And now twenty-three of us are dead, leaving me as the sole survivor. Everyone was (relatively) happy, and no was traumatized yet! Good times.

As always, the gong rings. Hydra is blown to gory bits, and Fulmina lays groaning on the ground with her arm a few feet away from her shoulders. She looks so much like Adrian did…

Deaths speed past my eyes without me really processing them. Vanye. Monk. Daniel. Joaquin.

Only do I snap back to reality when the cameras pan away from the retreating backs of Rylan and Yama and focus in on the eight Careers. I shut my eyes for a moment as I stare down the faces of Achilles, Marina, Clash and Adrian. Dead. All of them. Every person standing in frame right now is dead aside from me. Everyone running into the trees is dead. Everyone but me is dead.

Marina starts yelling something on screen which I have difficultly focusing on. Every time her face appears, all I can think about is that night in the hot-tub. She convinced me to take a leap. And now she's dead, and she died hating my existence. What would she think if she knew I won? Marina changed. Everyone knows that. On the day on the Reaping, if she knew I won, she would probably be happy for me. Maybe a little scared, because that would mean she was dead, but still. She would have been happy. But on the day Marina died? No one knows. I don't know. I never will know. After all, Marina is dead.

"Fuck off!" on screen-Arthur shouts at Marina. I swallow thickly and avert my eyes for a moment.

Everyone talks some more before the girls disappear in a huff. I realize with a jolt that that was the last time I ever saw any of them. We never came across each other—if we had, we certainly would have just killed each other—and I never saw Marina's face be projected in the sky. I swallow again as the cameras linger on her face as she angrily stalks away.

The rest of the day speeds past in a blur. The camera barely stays with any tribute for more than a minute, but I have to assume it's because nothing interesting happened.

Day 2 begins with the sunrise. The first tributes that appear are Rylan, Yama and Jayanne. Two of the three people on screen I killed. I can't tear my eyes off of their faces, knowing at this point that they still hoped they could win. They had no idea that I would be the person to end their lives.

I finally look away as their segment ends and the Career girls appear on screen. They quickly get in an argument over what they can talk about in the Hunger Games, which would be comical if I wasn't being reminded that all of them are dead every five seconds.

Jayanne's death on Day 3 is glossed over. Maybe death-by-birth is too gory, even for the bloodthirsty Capitolite audience. After Jayanne's cannon fires, Rylan and Yama make a break for it. I cringe, sinking lower in my seat, knowing exactly what's about to happy.

Clash starts yelling about Panem-knows-what and pulls me off to chase after them. He comes up with the brilliant idea to head them off at the other end of the woods, which plays out just it did in real time; it doesn't work. Clash tackles a bird. On-screen me can't be fucking sensible for five seconds and keep his mouth shut. I fight to keep my eyes open as Clash tackles me and wraps his hands around my throat. "Clash, no!" Adrian shouts, appearing with Achilles. He grabs Clash around the shoulders and shoves him off of me. The camera dramatically zooms out from the scene as Clash scrambles into the forest and Achilles gives me CPR.

Yama and Rylan then appear once more, showing Yama helping the bird Clash tackled. Is that the same bird that he attacked Achilles with? My eyes slowly wander to the crown on my head.

I blink a few times as the sky quickly darkens and Clash re-appears on screen, walking haphazardly through the forest. Anger remains written all over his face.

He continues walking in silence until the bird slam into his face. I jump a little, my face draining of what little color it retains as the bird returns to its master with Clash's eye dangling from its beak. Clash screams in agony, collapsing on the ground as the bird returns for a second strike. This time, it rips into Clash's stomach, pulling out his intestines and splaying them out across the ground.

My shoulders tense as I stare at Clash's bloodied face, my eyes wide.

_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. _

The air around me suddenly starts to feel very thick. I squeeze my eyes shut, lowering my head as Clash's wrecked voice echoes through my head. "P-please…he—help m-m-me…"

_Your fault. That's how Clash died. It's your fault. He suffered so much and it's your fault. If you had just kept your mouth shut, Clash wouldn't have died like this. He wouldn't have died with his intestines spilling out of his stomach and his eye being eaten by an eagle. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. _

The next two days blur past. Yama shoves Marina into a geyser, resulting in her screaming as her face is burnt off. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the screen, not really seeing it. Achilles gets sniped out of a tree by Flourish, leaving the Career girls cheering.

And then comes Rylan.

He and Yama have a rather one-sided conversation that leaves Rylan throwing Yama's notepad into the geyser in front of them.

I stare Alistair's shoes as Rylan starts screaming. All the air in the world seems to have suddenly disappeared. I can hardly breathe. My heart pounds in my chest. I look out into the audience, trying to find Chance and Alec. My eyes scan over the crowd quickly. At last I locate Chance, sitting with his arm around Alec's shoulders, looking at me with concern in his eyes. I try to take a deep breath and turn my attention back to the screen.

Everything starts to blend together into one mess of death. Fragrance. Shawn. I hardly even notice Yama and Adrian. My eyes flit up to the crown for less than a second, a small jolt of emotion running through my body. I stop breathing for a moment as I stare at myself, on screen, trying to convince Adrian not to die.

_Pathetic_, the voice in my head spits. _He was missing his entire _arm_, and you really thought he could _live_? You're so adorable. _

Melissandre. Flourish. Mercy. Delta. Guadalupe. Connor. Every death speeds past without really registering with me. They've already happened. All of those people are already dead. What's the point?

Fire begins to race around the arena, forcing Carter and I away from the Cornucopia. Warren stabs my hand, making me scream in agony and collapse. I'll admit I don't remember most of the finale, especially after this. I guess when you're stumbling around in a haze of agony, most of it doesn't really stick in your head.

Warren and I stumble down the hill and into the river, where we grapple with each other for a while before I finally gain the upper hand, my face conflicted.

_Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. _

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep my eyes open and on the screen. The rock in one-screen Arthur's shaking hand is covered in blood. I _remember_ that. I could never forget the reddened water, the reddened rock, Warren's face covered in blood…I look back to the audience, trying to find Chance and Alec. They're still in the same place. They haven't moved…why did I think they would have moved?

At last, at long, long last, the recap ends and I get to leave the stage. Chance and Alec appear, seemingly from nowhere and guide me toward the elevator. I can tell they are saying things, but my ears are ringing and my head pounds. I just stare ahead, trying to ignore the shaking in my shoulders and how much I want to break down and sob.

…

The problem with parties when you're the guest of honor is that everyone wants to talk to you.

All I really want is to just go to sleep, maybe cry in the shower. But unfortunately, Victor Obligations (as Chance lovingly named them when he first won) are precluding me from doing that. And so I'm left standing here in the ballroom of the Presidential Mansion, Chance and Alec standing on either side of me as if they are my bodyguards. I don't like that. It's not that Chance or Alec are problematic. There are just so many people close to me, pressing in all sides and talking so loudly that it feels like my skull is going to split in half.

Our escort—I'm pretty sure he has a name, but I guess I've never paid much attention to him—emerges from the crowd and tells Chance and Alec that they should go dance. "It's a slow song!" he says. "Everyone will love it!"

After a few moments, Chance and Alec concede, leaving me all alone at the bar.

I retract my former statement.

My eyes dart around the room as I press my back against the bar. I collapse backward onto one of the barstools, shutting my eyes against the cacophony of sounds that pound against my skull.

Maybe I'm losing my mind. Everyone probably thinks I've already lost the whole toolbox.

_No_, I decide. _I'm not losing my mind. _

I know what it feels like to lose your mind. It feels like sliding down a hill into a bottomless pit, being swallowed by the darkness as it pulls apart the last fibers of your sanity. That's not what this is. I feel like I'm clinging to a diving board which stands a hundred feet over a slab of concrete. There's no way up, but there's no I can let go.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The voice startles me and forces me to look up. "What?"

Macy sighs and repeats, "Are you okay?" Her voice is slow, as if she's trying to coax a feral cat out from underneath a car.

"Yes," I say, my voice clipped.

The skepticism in her eyes and face tells me she doesn't believe me. "Nice arm," she says after a moment, lowering her head to look at the prosthetic. "Seems like a trend recently. My leg, your arm, Kasumi's left pointer finger…"

"Okay…?" I say slowly. "Do you want an award or something?"

Macy idly picks at one of her fingernails. "No. I was just commenting on it." She lifts her eyebrows as if she found something surprising underneath one of her fingernails. "You killed more than I did."

"Okay…? Cool?"

"Such is the nature of Careers," she mumbles.

"I'm not a Career," I say defensively.

"Reaped or not, you still come from 4, don't ya?"

I duck my head and stare at Macy's shoes. She's wearing bright red tennis shoes. "I…don't follow that logic."

"Hey! Finally found you!"

Both Macy and I look up to see Brice Kylar walking toward us. He's exceptionally short. He's like eighteen-years-old and is probably like four feet tall.

"Found who?" Macy asks, her voice slightly snide.

"Arthur," Brice declares. "I have something to give you."

I raise my eyebrows. "Why, though?"

"Ah well first off avoid Kasumi if you value your life," Brice says. I don't dare to say that I don't. "she's been screaming about you for the past fifteen minutes and she may have made me go deaf in my left ear and well anyways, yeah, I have a tape for you."

"A tape," I repeat, staring off into space.

"Yeah, it's like one-hundred-fifty years old," laughs Brice. "although it's probably not the original one since I'm sure someone from District 2 has thrown it into a fire or two before—"

"Okay, but what's the tape?" I interrupt.

"Oh!" Brice exclaims, taking his hand out of his pocket. He holds a battered tape with a piece of paper attached to it, which reads _How To Keep Living_. "This tape was made around the time of the…sixth Games, I think? Anyways, Deasia made it and gave it to each new Victor, up until her death and now it's my and Meadow's job!" His eyes flicker down for a moment before he continues. "and Jules, sometimes. But he doesn't really mentor anymore."

I glance at Macy over Brice's shoulder. She shakes her head, smirking. I stare at her for a moment before she turns around and disappears into the crowd, still laughing and shaking her head. I want to yell after her not to leave me here with Brice who appears completely incapable of ever shutting up.

"It's a big secret between all the Victors even though like half the Capitol knows about probably because they took the tape and copied it and sold it for the Capitolites' enjoyment not that I really care I think that's kind of cool but—"

"Okay, Brice, can I just have the tape?" I ask tiredly. All I really want to do is sleep. I don't have the energy to keep up with Brice right now.

"Oh, yeah, of course!" Brice shoves the tape into my hands. "I'm going to go see if I can find Kasumi and calm her down now 'cause I'm kind of afraid she might commit homicide tonight so do me a favor avoid her like the plague and lock all your doors tonight I'm afraid she might have found knives maybe Dixie will help and lock Kasumi up too that would be helpful I don't like confrontation but I can survive it if it means Kasumi won't get arrested for murder."

"Okay, that's great, Brice," I say, not really listening to him. He's probably just talking about puppies or something. He seems about that mature, despite being a Victor. "I'm going to go…do something." I take the tape from him and start to walk away from Brice, leaving him talking to the bartender. Poor guy doesn't know what he's in for.

"Oh, _fuck you_, Chance."

I look up from examining Deasia's tape and come face to face with Kasumi Karakara, locked in a heated argument with Chance. I take a step back from surprise, almost dropping the tape.

"Sorry, I don't swing your way," Chance growls in reply.

"Well, would you look who it is," Kasumi says, completely ignoring Chance's comment. "Arthur Singlewave."

"Yes, that it is my name," I say tiredly.

"You know, if I had it my way, you would be dead," Kasumi says.

"Okay…?" I say, uncertainly taking another step back. "Congrats?"

"You don't deserve Victory! Not like Warren did. Hell, I'd rather take _Mercy_ than another fucking Career jackass—"

_She's not wrong. _"Oh, you're mad because I dared to kill one of your tributes in the _Hunger Games_?" I exclaim angrily. _You _did_ kill Warren, after all. He _is_ dead because of you. _"Do you see anyone else being bitter because they lost this year? No, obviously not! Because everyone else here can understand that most likely, your tributes are going to fucking die!"

"No one wanted you out," Kasumi says in a low, angry voice. "No one was rooting for _you_. Do you think there is anyone outside of your tiny bubble of existence that actually _wants_ you to go home? No, obviously not! You're not someone to root for."

_Don't even try to deny that she is correct. You _know_ she's right. _"You get mad at me for killing Warren, yet I know if you were in that arena, you would have done the _exact_ same thing!" I spit the last few words vehemently.

"Fuck off," Kasumi cries. "Dixie, _you_ know I'm right, right?"

Kasumi looks around, only to realize that Dixie is not present. Her face flushes with either embarrassment or anger before she turns on her heels and storms out of the ballroom.

I look around and realize that most people in the ballroom are staring at me. Brice is still talking at the bartender, and Dixie is running off after Kasumi, but almost everyone have their attention on me. I take another step back, my head whipping around to look at everyone. They're all staring at me. Why are they all staring at me? Why won't they stop staring at me? They need to stop staring at me.

Eventually, the various Capitolites and Victors go back to their conversation, but I can still feel their eyes burning into my skull. Chance moves in front of me and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Arthur?"

"Yeah…?"

"Are you okay?"

"…no?"

He shakes his head and guides me through the crowd and back toward the bar. "You look tired."

"I _am_ tired, Chance."

Chance nods. "I know."

_I don't think you do, Chance, _I want to say. But I keep my mouth shut. Whatever helps him sleep at night.

_He doesn't really care about you, you know, _a separate voice—an annoying, rather familiar voice—whispers in my head. _Chance doesn't give a shit about you. Why _would_ he bother? There's no point to caring about something as pathetic as you._

"Arthur? Are you sure you're okay?" I can't mistake the concern in his voice. The concern that hardly could be real. The concern that Chance doesn't even feel.

"I'm fine."

**A/N: Yay for sad Arthur! Also, don't expect the other epilogues to be this long. The only reason this one is so long is because I wanted to get everything in the Capitol out of the way in one chapter. Capitol recovery chapters are boring. Except for writing all the stuff Brice was saying. That was kind of fun. **

**1\. How long will take Arthur to pick himself up, if ever?**

**2\. Is Kasumi justified in her bitterness?**

**3\. Did you read any of what Brice said?**

**4\. Which of the Victors in this chapter is your favorite? (Macy and Arthur don't count)**

**Random Question of the Chapter: I don't know…how has your day been?**

**My answer: I wish I had been able to sleep later. Like there was no reason for me to be up early but my brain just went 'you get up at this time almost every other day of the week, which must mean you get up at this time on Sundays too.' So, now I'm tired. Then again I'm always tired but I'm more tired today. **

**-Amanda**


	42. Epilogue 2 - Coat Hanger

_Arthur Singlewave, 16_

_Victor of the 151__st__ Annual Hunger Games_

The sound of a bell ringing punctuates my halo of silence as I push open the glass door. A cacophony of dogs barking reaches my ears as I shift my hands around in my pockets, slowly walking into the room.

"Hello, can I help you?" says the receptionist at the desk, smiling pleasantly.

"Um," I start, clenching my hands into my pockets. I should have planned this out more. I should have thought about what I was going to say. Can I even do this? Is this even allowed? Am I even old enough to _stand_ here? "I, uh, um…I…well, I was wondering how I could…adopt a cat?"

"Oh!" she exclaims. Fuck. I can't adopt a cat, can I? I'm too young. I'm not trustworthy enough. I'm too traumatized. Fuck. "Of course. You know, there are so many people around District 4 that don't have enough money to support an animal, so it's lovely to see someone interested in taking one in!"

"Yeah," I say, completely unsure of what to say. I stare down at my shoes, listening to all the barking dogs. They're really loud. Too loud, maybe. "So…I can?"

"Yes," the receptionist says. "I'll have Aquila take you back." She turns and calls for someone. After a moment, a teenage girl with blonde hair appears from where all the dog barking is coming from.

"Hi! I'm Aquila," the blonde girl says, talking loudly to be heard over the noise as she leads me into the cats' section of the shelter. "My brother Copper and I recently found a whole litter of kittens on the side of the road, orphaned, we're pretty sure. Of course, the kittens are too young to be adopted, but any animal we can get adopted is helpful. No one really has the money to support pets around here, and those who do aren't really interested."

"I just want a companion aside from my dad," I say, shrugging.

"I get that," Aquila replies. "I have four cats back home. I'd have more if I could. Honestly, I'm probably going to end up going home with all of those kittens Copper and I found one of these days." She laughs, shaking her head. "So, we have around twenty-five cats that are eligible for adoption here. We've got some kittens, some seniors…whatever strikes your fancy."

My breath freezes in my chest as I look at the different cats laying into their kennels. A few of them meow at Aquila and I. A charcoal gray cat at the end of the kennels catches my eye. I cautiously walk toward it, looking at Aquila as if she's going to tell me to stop moving.

I peer at the cat, laying fast asleep inside the kennel. As I look closer at it, I notice that it's missing its left back leg. A small smile graces my lips.

"That guy has been here for ages," Aquila says, suddenly appearing behind me.

I jump and look over my shoulder at her. "That's…a long time."

"I think his legs scare people off, ya know?" she continues, looking thoughtfully at the cat in the kennel. "Are you interested in him, though?"

"Yeah," I say, shuffling my feet and staring at the cat. "How old is he?"

"Estimated about seven, I believe," Aquila dutifully chirps, plucking a clipboard from a plastic container attached to the wall. "Yeah. He's around seven. Found on the street around a year ago."

"Wow," I say, unsure of what else I could say. When this guy was found, everything was still normal…that's weird. That's too weird.

The cat in question lifts his head and meows at us, seeming unhappy to have his sleep interrupted. I smile a little, meeting the yellow eyes of the indignant cat. He meows again before setting his head down and going back to sleep.

"I'll take him."

…

"I bought a cat," I say, carefully setting the box on the counter. The cat inside complains loudly as I open the top and gingerly lift him out. The moment I set him down, he hops off the counter and starts sniffing my legs.

"He's cute," Dad comments. "Is he…missing a leg?"

"Yeah," I say, shrugging. "Do you have any name ideas?"

Said nameless-cat hops back onto the counter and starts go wander back and forth on it, meowing as he goes. I lean forward on the counter, looking at the little stub where his back leg used to be. He can't have any fancy prosthetics like my hand. This cat deserves a nice new leg more than I deserve this hand.

"No, I don't," Dad says, shaking his head. "Sorry."

"It's…whatever," I say, staring off into space. "I'll think of something."

Dad looks to the clock on the wall. "I had better leave, or else I'll be late to meet Avian and Santos at the dock."

"Okay." I lean over further, looking at my prosthetic hand as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. I guess, in a way, it is.

"I'll see you later," Dad says as he walks past me. "Let me know if you come up with a name for that cat."

"Okay."

With that, Dad walks out the front door and disappears into the sunny afternoon. I heave a sigh. _He probably didn't even have to meet anybody,_ the little voice in my head decides. _He probably made up an excuse because he hates you and is angry with you because you bought a cat without permission. _

I stare dejectedly at my nameless cat friend, idly tapping my fingers on the counter. The plastic makes a strange, abnormal sound with each _tap_.

"Meow," the cat purrs, pacing back and forth across the counter. I slowly stalk over to one of the barstools by the counter and collapse onto it, suddenly feeling tired. Then again, I'm always tired. I just feel more tired than usual. "Meow!"

Suddenly the cat is right in front of my face, meowing at me. "Ah!" I exclaim. "Don't do that!"

He just cocks his head to the side before turning around and hopping off the counter. He disappears toward the stairs, padding happily up the steps as if he owns the place. I watch his tail disappear around the corner toward the room I claimed a few months ago—when I first even received this house. Alec told me it used to belong to Key before he died—which did not make me feel any more comfortable with living here.

I tiredly get to my feet and head up the stairs in search of the nameless-cat. When I reach the top of the stairs, I hear him meowing down the hall. I follow the sound until I find him sitting on my bed with his head stuck in a coat hanger, looking very pleased with himself. "How…?" I say as I approach him, carefully extricating the hanger from around his head. "Did…did you do that _intentionally_? Where did you even _find_ a coat hanger?"

The cat makes no indication that he even heard me. Instead he decides now is a great time to take a bath.

I shake my head, laughing slightly. "You know what? I'm going to call you Coat Hanger."

Again, Coat Hanger refuses to acknowledge me.

"Unsurprising," I say aloud with a shrug. It is a cat, after all. They aren't exactly the nicest creatures, and it appears Coat Hanger will be no different. As long as he doesn't die, I think I'll survive.

**A/N: Why did I decide Arthur should have cats? Because I did, that's why. Follow up question: why did I decide the first cat should be named Coat Hanger? Because I did, that's why. **

**Random Question of the Chapter: do you like cats?**

**My answer: obviously. I have two of them, Fred and Allie. Allie is a jerk and the reason I can't get kittens (because she would probably kill them) (she's also almost as old as I am) (Fred likes to lay on my keyboard a lot) (he's very inconsiderate). **

**And now I'm finally going update BPOE again! Took me long enough. **

**-Amanda**


	43. Epilogue 3 - Property Of The Hydras

**TW for torture.**

_Arthur Bekkar, 19_

_District 5 Citizen_

I wake up with my arms tied around my back and my head pounding. I slowly blink my eyes open, looking around curiously.

The room I'm in is mostly dark. The only light source comes from a single lightbulb hanging above my head. It has such a small radius that I can't tell how big the room actually is, or how many people might be lurking in the shadows.

"…hello?" I call tentatively into the darkness, struggling to move my arms or legs. My hands are tied around the back of the chair I'm seated in, with my legs tied to the legs of the chair as well. The only good thing I can think of about this situation is that I'm not blindfolded, nor am I gagged.

"Hello."

My head whips around in the search of the voice's source, at last locating a woman standing just on the edge of the light.

"We were wondering if you were ever going to wake up." The woman steps closer, pacing in a circle around my chair, her hands dancing on my shoulders. "I'm Szola. I'm sure you remember me, yes…?"

"No," I answer immediately. "I've never seen you before in my life."

"I don't believe that," Szola says in a low voice. "But, maybe you recognize Alton instead?"

A man steps out of the shadows, twirling a knife between his fingers. And yes, I do recognize him. I recognize Szola as well. But I haven't seen either of them for years…in all honestly, I thought they were dead. They _should_ be dead. Everyone from that horrid rebel group should be dead…

Yet here Alton and Szola stand, a testament to some sort of flaw in the system.

"…no," I manage to choke out.

"I really just don't believe you," Szola says, holding out her hand for Alton's knife. He sets the blade in the palm of her hand, and she approaches me with malice in her eyes. "If you are so blind that you can't recognize Alton or me, then maybe you don't need those faulty eyes at all, do you?" She shoves the blade underneath my left eye, eliciting of cry of pain from my mouth. "So you really, really don't recognize us, do you, Arthur?"

"No! No! I recognize you! I know you! Please stop!"

Szola smiles tersely and pulls the knife from my eye socket. I feel a drop of blood trickle down my face. "Maybe you need something to help you remember us so you don't forget again, hm?"

She takes the knife and start to cut off my shirt. I feel my muscles tense as I look at her face, unsure of what her plan is.

Once a nice sized section of my shirt has fallen to the ground, she presses the knife into my skin, drawing it along in some sort of pattern. I let my head drop against the chair back, not wanting to watch whatever she is doing. After all, I have no desire to see my own blood be shed, especially not here…

"All done," Szola says after some amount of time. I stopped counting the minutes long ago. "Alton, bring the mirror, will you?"

Shuffling footsteps tell me that Alton has gone to get a mirror, which does not bode well. He returns a few moments later and hands Szola the mirror.

"See?" Szola says in a sickly-sweet voice, holding the mirror up to my chest. "Now you won't forget us again."

My head remains resolutely against the chair back, my eyes closed and facing the ceiling.

"Alton, make him look at the mirror." Alton sharply grabs my head and pries my eyes open, forcing me to look into the mirror.

My eyes widen in horror as I stare at the bloodied mess that has become my chest, reflecting the words now carved into my skin.

_PROPERTY OF THE HYDRAS_

"The Hydras?" I ask weakly.

"We changed our name in honor of one of our great fallen warriors," Szola explains. "And now you can't forget that you are one of us, honey. Your parents may have been executed, but the rest of us are still here…and we are going to get what we want."

"What you want is anarchy," I say in the strongest voice I can muster. "And even if that isn't part of the plan…any c-country would fall apart with you at the helm."

Szola's face deepens with anger. "You know, maybe I was wrong…maybe you don't need those eyes after all."

"No, no, no, no, no, no—" I start stammer as Szola digs her blade back into my eye, pressing it upwards in the socket. My words are cut off by screams that fight their way out of my throat as my hands blindly fail around behind the chair. In the horror and pain of the moment, I practically forget that I'm tied down…

Szola starts talking again, saying about how pretty my eyes are as she pulls the left one from its socket. An extremely loud, horrible scream breaks out of my mouth, and then everything goes black.

…

_**BODY FOUND IN ALLEYWAY NEAR MERLYN ESTATE; IDENTIFIED AS ARTHUR BEKKAR, NINETEEN-YEARS-OLD, FOUND WITHOUT EYES AND TONGUE, WORDS CARVED INTO HIS CHEST, FOREHEAD AND LIMBS:**_

"_**PROPERTY OF THE HYDRAS" "ARTHUR SETS AN EXAMPLE" "WE ARE COMING"**_

…

**A/N: Well, well, well, an update for this story. And, as it so happens, the final Die A Hero update! I was going to do third epilogue about Arthur (Singlewave) but decided against it when I realized I had no clue what would happen in it. So, instead, we see the final thing I had planned for this story. **

**I don't really see a need to do questions for this chapter, so I'm going to skip them because I don't know what I'd write for them. **

**Random Question of the Chapter: what will come of, well, any of this chapter?**

**My answer: it's something that's been brewing in my head for a while now. It's going to be pretty cool when I get it all figured out, but for now, I'm slowly plotting out everything. Some of it has, obviously, already been hinted at in the past. **

**So! This story is **_**finished**_**! Wow. I'm really happy to have finished not one, but two SYOTs, and the Bloodiest Place on Earth will hopefully join that roster in the next few months!**

**Signing out for the last time on this story, **

**-Amanda**


End file.
